


Fallen from the Stars

by madmalina



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angry Erik, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Charles, Calm Down Erik, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Being Concerned, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles is a Prince, Civil War, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Execution, Homophobia, Hurt Charles, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Loneliness, M/M, Mutant Rights, Poor Charles, Poor Erik, Protective Erik, Rebellion, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Serious Injuries, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smitten Erik, Survival, Violence, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 07:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 145,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmalina/pseuds/madmalina
Summary: Erik’s only purpose in life is to find and kill the man who had his parents executed—Sebastian Shaw, Captain of the Emperor’s fleet. When Erik gets assigned to a job under Shaw’s command—on the spaceship supposed to take the Crown Prince across the galaxy—he’s sure he’s closer to fulfilling his destiny than he has ever been before.Charles is apprehensively awaiting the day of his twenty-fifth birthday, when he’ll be crowned Emperor, because not only does he have high doubts about his own suitability for the job, he fears the crushing responsibilities it will bring, and ultimately wants nothing more than to live a quiet and peaceful life.However, the trip across the planets of Charles’ future Empire turns out differently than they both expected, shedding light on intrigues reaching back decades into the past, and forcing both men to put their lives into each other’s hands, even though their differences are seemingly infinite.





	1. 1.1 Erik

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to my lovely and wonderful beta, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)! Thank you so much for your wonderful edits, kind comments, and support! <3
> 
> Updates will be weekly (on Saturdays). Enjoy!

PART ONE: Survival

 

“Holy shit,” Erik hears himself exclaim in spite of himself. “It really is magnificent.”

“Yeah, it’s even more impressive than the one they had before,” Darwin agrees, also looking up at the enormous gleaming ship taking up almost the whole hall right in front of them.

“It’s hard to believe it flies at all, isn’t it?” Alex adds, only just catching up with them. “And they say it’s fucking fast, the fastest one yet, even though it’s essentially a flying palace. You just wait until we leave the earth’s atmosphere. It’ll be fucking brilliant.”

Darwin draws his eyes away from the ship, though with apparent reluctance. “Right, let’s get to work or we’ll be in trouble” he says, taking Alex’s arm as he pulls him away in the direction of the stockrooms.

Erik’s hardly heard any of what they said. He lingers for another moment, drinking in the glorious sight of the beautiful and gargantuan ship right in front of him. Most spaceships of the Emperor’s fleet are crafted in dark colours—silver, grey or even black. The spotless, shimmering, silvery luminescence of the _Magnificence_ on the other hand, brightened by thousands of lights around the hall, glows almost too brightly.

Titanium alloys, Erik’s senses tell him, among the usual aluminium. Incredibly expensive, but that’s not surprising considering it’s the Emperor’s official ship—the one to get him and his family around the galaxy. It’s enormous—seven decks, stretching over the size of half the Emperor’s palace, the top deck—reserved for only the royal family and their personal servants—rumoured to be furnished as luxuriously as the palace itself and fitted with a swimming pool, casino, sauna, and hell only knows what other nonsense. The other decks will be inhabited by thousands more workers, technicians, soldiers, cooks, doctors, and many more, as well as harbouring the giant engine, shuttles, and mountains of food rations.

The men scurrying in and out of the opening in the ship’s belly further down the hall look as tiny as ants scrambling over a large rock, and Erik has never seen anything like it. The ship’s definitely gorgeous, a masterpiece of engineering in every way—elegant, fast, nearly indestructible, comfortable, and stunningly beautiful, even more so than the previous one.

Erik vividly remembers those days—back when he was a young boy and Emperor Brian Xavier was still alive—when it was announced the Emperor was to go on a trip. Everyone was outside then, nobody wanting to miss the rare and spectacular event of seeing the Emperor’s large and beautiful ship fly past before it took off up into space to take him to some far-off planetary colony, seemingly effortless as it cut through the air then turned skywards and shot off into spheres more magical and fantastic than Erik could dream of.

“The universe is endless,” Erik’s father used to tell him. “Not even Emperor Xavier has been to every part of it.”

It was hard to understand for an eight-year-old boy back then, and Erik still has trouble comprehending it now. Space. The whole extent of it. However, one thing has changed. He no longer thinks of the Emperor as an extraordinary man so strong and powerful that everything is possible to him. Perhaps that idea vanished the day that Emperor Brian Xavier and his wife died unexpectedly in an aircraft accident, when Erik was only nine years old.

These days Erik can hardly wrap his head around the sadness and pain every single ordinary person seemed to feel at the announcement of the Emperor’s death, including himself—just as though a beloved family member had died.

Simply ridiculous.

Since then Erik’s grown to secretly despise everyone who lives at the palace for everything they are and do so much that any death occurring within it wouldn’t evoke sadness in him at all anymore, perhaps even pleasure and contentment instead. After all the royals have proven time and time again that ordinary people, least of all mutants, don’t matter to them in the slightest, so why should anyone bother finding empathy for them within themselves?

They just don’t fucking deserve it.

It feels like a different life now, the time when the royal family still mattered so much to Erik. He remembers his mother talking about them in an almost fond way, as though they were extended family, and his father talking about the Emperor always with a lot of respect and admiration, but the memories just feel odd now, removed from him. He doesn’t like thinking about them much because it always leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth, and he hates that they’re so closely intertwined with memories of his parents.

Erik’s mother’s favourite story was always the one about the day that Erik was born. How his father went outside to tell their neighbours about his son’s birth only to be met with celebration everywhere. How he was greeted with only happiness that day, because it was also the day that the young Crown Prince was born, and everyone was celebrating, full of hope that this meant a continuation of the Empire’s security and stability.

“Were we born at the same moment, Mama?” Erik used to ask his mother.

“Almost, mein Schatz,” she used to reply. “It was a very special day, when two very special boys were born.”

And Erik’s heart always filled with inexplicable pride at those words.

When Erik was a child, the Crown Prince always felt like a friend he’d never met. He had real friends then, but he still talked quietly to the Prince in his head sometimes when he lay in bed at night, telling him about his day, and his worries. Obviously the Prince never answered, but Erik still felt understood for some reason. As though someone had actually listened to what he said. It was a real source of comfort sometimes, when he was sad for one reason or another.

And when Emperor Xavier and his wife died, all Erik could think about was the Crown Prince, only nine years old, just like Erik, having just lost his parents. Erik remembers sending thoughts of comfort to his distant friend, pained by his own helplessness. He so wanted to help the Prince, and he hated that there was nothing he could do.

It feels weird now to think about a time in Erik’s life when he was so happy, and he worried so little that he actually had the capacity to feel sorry for a stranger he’d never met, moreover the richest person on the planet, the boy who would one day be Emperor himself.

What a load of rubbish.

Erik catches sight of an important-looking red-skinned man staring at him, and quickly turns away from the ship, following Alex and Darwin’s path to the stockrooms, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

The last thing he needs now is to attract negative attention, least of all from a man who—in spite of the fact that he’s quite obviously a mutant—Erik has heard is Shaw’s right hand. Putting himself in a negative light right in front of the man with a close connection to the fucking _Captain_ of the Magnificence might put Erik’s job on the ship at risk, and that can’t happen. Erik can’t risk being left behind. He _needs_ to get on this ship.

Loading crate after crate of tinned food onto a transporter, Erik half-listens to Alex and Darwin’s prattle about the Magnificence, about the records it’s set, about its speed, its capacity...They’re clearly more than excited by the prospect of going into space on the most spectacular ship of their age, of seeing large parts of the galaxy and being further away from earth than they’ve ever been before. It’s an adventure to them, one they’ve always longed for.

Almost in spite of himself Erik recognises a certain fondness in his thoughts for his coworkers. They talk too much, and he’d rather they just worked quietly alongside him a lot of the time, but he can’t deny that they’ve been of great help to him, and, sometimes, good company. They’ve both been working for the Emperor far longer than Erik has, several years in fact. They’ve been on all the ships before, have tended to them, stacked them, everything. And they know a lot more about hierarchies and people who matter than Erik. Without them Erik suspects he might never have been chosen to work on the Magnificence this early on in his career. He has to be grateful for that, and he also has to admit that his sympathy for both of them has grown significantly since he’s noticed the dark ‘M’ signs burned into both of their wrists.

Even if he has a much bigger and more important goal to focus on, any fellow mutant will always have his loyalty.

Erik only started working at the shipyard two months earlier. It had been tough to get the qualifications with no money and no guardian to look out for him, but he managed in the end, because he knew he had to. He still does. He fucking knows it’s the only chance he’ll ever get at getting to Shaw...

And so Erik applied to be a fucking cabin boy in the fucking fleet of the fucking Emperor Kurt fucking Marko, even though at twenty-four, almost twenty-five, he’s a little too old and actually qualified to be more than that by now—he’s even qualified to fly a fucking shuttle, not that he’ll get to do that anytime soon—and even though he hated—he still hates—the idea of having anything to do with the man, let alone work for him. Or for Shaw, but unfortunately that’s a necessity.

In the end it has to be said that it was easier to get the job than Erik expected. He’s still surprised really by _how_ easy it was, given that he’s a marked mutant. There were several interviews, but only very lax background checks, no difficult tests, nothing to make him stumble even a bit.

Thorough background checks were what he was afraid of most, and he was half-convinced that if he applied to be part of the Emperor’s fleet his past would be taken apart. However, they only looked into his criminal record, and a strange blond lady in white interrogated him for a few minutes, but didn’t ask him any difficult questions. Erik’s still not sure why it was so easy, particularly since it’s no secret Emperor Marko only very reluctantly hires mutants because he mistrusts them. Perhaps it’s just because nobody gives a damn about cabin boys, but in any case it enabled Erik to sign up as Max Eisenhardt without any problem, the fake identity he built up over the last years, simply for the purpose of getting where he is now.

As Erik drives the transporter into the stockroom of the Magnificence—a dark, cold, and large hall without windows, none of the ship’s glamour present—and proceeds unloading the tins and stacking them up against the wall, he spots a few more familiar faces among the other workers, baseline humans mostly. He nods to them, but doesn’t talk. He’s not surprised to see any of them there—the Captain has clearly picked the most experienced and efficient workers for this important trip, but it makes Erik once again wonder why on earth he himself was chosen.

He’s more than glad he was—it’s an opportunity in many ways that he wouldn’t have wanted to miss—but nevertheless it makes him feel slightly uncomfortable, as though there’s something he’s failed to notice, something he hasn’t considered in his plan, even though he’s thought about it a million times, making absolutely sure there isn’t anything.

The Magnificence’s upcoming trip across the galaxy is a big thing, a huge event and a crucial time in the Crown Prince’s, soon-to-be Emperor’s life. It’s traditional for a future Emperor to take a trip across his empire right before he assumes office, to travel through the galaxy and visit and talk to all he governors on the colonised planets on the way. They have to know him, trust him, and he has to let them know what he expects of them. It’s always a big event when something like this happens—Erik remembers Kurt Marko taking off for the same trip almost fifteen years ago, he remembers sitting outside with his father and watching the large ship disappear into space, though with a lot less enjoyment and excitement than all those times before.

Marko had been Emperor Xavier’s personal advisor, so it made perfect sense back then, after the Emperor’s death, for him to fill in for the true heir to the throne, Crown Prince Charles, until the Prince’s twenty-fifth birthday, when he’d officially be old enough to become Emperor himself.

Nevertheless it was a mistake—just how much of a mistake people only realised when he was back on earth and started taking away everything people owned, punishing them for not showing him enough respect, and enriching himself and his rich friends further and further, while people all over the planet died of hunger, simple infections, and other diseases that could easily be treated.

It should have been clear from the start really, what kind of man Marko is. He was never more than the guardian of Emperor Xavier’s son, his temporary mentor, he was never really Emperor, and yet he still demanded people call him Emperor Marko from his first day in office.

He appointed administrators for all the different districts not long after he gained power, telling people it was so he could make sure food rations and medication could be distributed evenly and equitably, but it soon became apparent that it was really just a means of controlling people more efficiently

Sebastian Shaw was appointed administrator of Erik’s district, somebody they’d never heard of before, but who soon turned out to be a monster wearing a man’s face. A heartless man, who enjoyed being in power just as much as his superior.

It was the beginning of the end of Erik’s childhood. He’d never known hunger before, or fear so strong it threatened to swallow him whole. Or white-hot, all-consuming anger.

It’s Shaw Erik needs to get to, Shaw who Erik needs to make pay for all the pain he’s caused himself and countless others. Shaw’s the reason why Erik works so hard and stays so focused all the time, because he has only one goal.

Erik needs to see Shaw suffer before he dies, he needs to see him realise what he’s done, witness the moment that Shaw recognises the fact that all his monstrous deeds of the past are why his own life is coming to a cruel end.

Erik fucking needs to see Shaw squirm and scream and _beg,_ but when he does, Erik won’t relent, he won’t stop until Shaw’s dead.

It’s why this trip, why Erik working on the Magnificence alongside _Captain_ Shaw is such a great opportunity. He’ll never get as close to the man again, and the trip is scheduled to take almost two months. He’ll do it then. He’ll find a way. He’ll figure something out on the ship. This is it.

He’ll finally get him.

Erik’s not too afraid that Shaw will recognise him. Erik was only eleven when they last saw each other after all, and he was just one of many children that Shaw left parentless and alone after he’d had every single adult in their village killed. It’s not as though Shaw paid a lot of attention to any of the children—they meant nothing to him, their pain and suffering invisible and insignificant. Perhaps he doesn’t even remember his time as administrator of district 4213. It wouldn’t come as a surprise to Erik if he didn’t.

Erik, however, remembers every detail.

From the first moment that Shaw took office as administrator in Erik’s district he was cruel and unjust, withholding food and medication if people dared step out of line, personally making sure people were punished severely for even the pettiest of crimes, strutting through the streets as though he owned the people living in it, and enjoying the fear in their eyes. And when he heard a rumour that people in Erik’s village were organising to overthrow him, he’d had everyone killed, without even bothering to find out whether the rumours were true.

The memory of the day that Shaw’s men came into Erik’s hut, dragging his parents outside by their hair, still makes Erik wake up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night sometimes.

He was playing with his metal animals when they came. He heard his mother scream and he ran after them, even though his mother cried at him to go back to his room and lock himself inside. Perhaps it’s good he didn’t listen to her, because they set every hut on fire after they’d shot everyone who’d reached the age of puberty in the village square and left them to burn.

Erik still remembers the terrible smell. And the screams. And the silence afterwards, apart from the children’s terrified sobs.

And Shaw’s face when he came to inspect the scene later, wearing a pleased expression, turning burned bodies over with his shoe, ruffling a few of the children’s hair.

The moment that Shaw’s hand touched Erik’s hair was when he started truly hating another person for the first time, and when he, Erik, eleven years old, swore to himself that one day he’d be strong and powerful enough to make Sebastian Shaw pay.

All the children, including Erik, were distributed into orphanages within the neighbouring districts afterwards, and Shaw was replaced as administrator of district 4213. When Erik heard it he felt a glimmer of hope that there might still be something like justice in the world, only to have it crushed again, his anger growing even hotter, as he discovered that Shaw was actually promoted to lead Emperor Marko’s fleet.

Erik’s fury at the injustice of it all still burns white-hot inside him.

The thought of _Shaw_ —after everything that he’s done—living in wealth and luxury while people all over the planet are starving makes Erik feel physically sick, but he knows there’s nothing he can do about it right now. Not yet. He has to be patient, but he’ll get there in the end. Because he has to, he owes it to them, to his parents and all those other people Shaw had killed that night.

The fucking monster.

Erik’s not stupid. He knows Shaw’s not the only one to blame, and maybe, if he ever gets the chance, if he manages to get away with killing Shaw without being arrested, he’ll hunt all those other men down, the ones who actually did the killing. But even though his hatred for them also burns hotly inside of him, and even though it would be a lot easier to get to any of them than to get hold of Shaw, Erik knew from the very start that Shaw was the one he needed to make pay most of all. The one who actually gave the order for the senseless killing. And by attacking anyone else beforehand he’d risk being arrested, thereby ruining any chance he ever had at killing Shaw.

And of course there are still the people who call themselves the ‘royal family’, even though they’re not actually a family, and even though—apart from Prince Charles—they’re not ‘royal’ either. Kurt Marko, his son and daughter, and of course the Crown Prince himself.

They’re all just as bad as Shaw, living their comfortable life of luxury, not giving a damn about starving and suffering children all over the planet. They must have known what Shaw did, and yet there were no consequences, nothing. On the fucking contrary. He was _rewarded_ for his abhorrent behaviour, promoted to be Captain of the royal fleet.

There are still people who think differently, people who believe that, once the Crown Prince finally takes over things will be better again. This thought has kept a lot of people going for the past fifteen years or so, and now there’s a definite atmosphere of hope and excitement perceivable even among the workers in the shipyard, though none of them dare openly admit it. There’s still this inexplicable hope that Charles Xavier is a good person, and that he cares about the ordinary people, the poor people, and even the lowest of the low, the mutants.

Where this hope comes from Erik doesn’t understand. The Crown Prince has never done anything to deserve this kind of trust. In fact, he’s been pretty much invisible all those last years, happy to sit by and watch his mentor wreck everything good that has ever existed on Earth, or the rest of the Empire. The only times he appeared on any of the screens put up everywhere on the planet were for official ceremonies and the like, but he was never involved in anything truly important.

There was even a time, about two years back, when the Crown Prince disappeared almost completely, for about five months. Erik remembers word going around about an accident the young prince had had. People were awfully worried, and even Erik remembers feeling uneasy at the news, but the palace soon promulgated that the Prince hadn’t been severely injured and should make a full recovery, which put people’s minds and hearts at ease again. Nevertheless the Prince hardly showed his face for a long time, and never at events taking place outside the palace, apparently always too busy doing...what? Playing golf in all probability, or admiring his reflection.

No, Erik doesn’t share everyone else’s hope that Charles Xavier will be any better of an Emperor than Kurt Marko. The Prince is not the person Erik once thought he was, that much is clear.

Why should Erik put all his hope into one person he’s never met and who’s never shown any signs of being any better than his mentor? No, Charles Xavier will be just as bad as Kurt Marko.

 

As Erik lies in his tiny bunk for the last time in two months, ready to finally board the Magnificence the next morning, he can practically feel the excitement around him. Most of the other workers have been on longer trips in the galaxy before, but never on a ship as large or glorious or fast as the one waiting for them. It’s the maiden trip of the Magnificence, which makes it an enormous honour for all of them to have been chosen.

Erik’s excited too, he can’t deny it, but mostly for other reasons.

Erik turns over onto his stomach, closing his eyes and trying to get some sleep, but the thoughts won’t stop swirling in his mind.

Tomorrow’s the day. It all starts tomorrow. Tomorrow marks the beginning of the end of Shaw’s life, and, if everything works as planned and Erik doesn’t get caught, of so many others too. Of all the men who killed his parents and so many others and burned down their village. And Marko. Everyone who was in charge then and looked the other way.

If Erik can he’ll make all of them pay, one by one, even if it kills him. But Shaw first, Shaw’s the one that matters most, and so Erik can’t get distracted. He has to stay focused.

He needs to get to Shaw.


	2. 1.2 Charles

Charles watches the workers outside his bedroom window scurrying in and out of the palace carrying goods, clothing, and furniture with apprehension more than excitement. He should be thrilled, he really should be. Two months without Kurt or Cain, with Raven by his side, so much to see, including parts of the galaxy he’s never been to before, and yet…

He can’t help feeling nervous about the whole trip. 

What will he say to all those people? They’ll expect him to have some kind of plan ready, perhaps even a speech, they’ll want to know what will happen to the planets they’re in charge of once he assumes office, and he doubts they’ll like any of his actual ideas —they’re all hand-picked by Kurt, and all loyal to his mentor after all. Convincing them of his, Charles’, plans won’t be easy, if at all possible as they’ll surely want to uphold the old order. Perhaps the best thing would be not to tell them any details at all, make them believe nothing will change when he becomes Emperor, then surprise them with his decisions, present them with a fait accompli once he’s managed to organise everything back on Earth. It might be safer for everyone.

Charles sighs.

He can already see all the conflicts growing, all the bad blood, the resistance coming from all the old aristocratic families as well as all of Kurt’s lap dogs in the colonies, and—worst and most terrifying of all—Kurt himself. Charles isn’t sure he can get through it. He’s never thought of himself as a particularly strong person, not in any sense of the word. And he never asked for this job. There are about a hundred other people that come to his mind who would be better suited for being Emperor, and that’s not even an exaggeration.

Yet, if everything goes according to plan, and he can get his reform rammed through without causing a war with the colonies, he won’t be Emperor for long. That thought, at least, provides some comfort among all the tension and crushing pressure.

“Your Majesty?”

Charles turns to see Logan standing in the doorway, a hardly discernible smile on his lips. Charles should have known it was him by the slightly teasing tone with which the words were spoken.

“Yes?”

“The Emperor asked me to inform you that dinner will take place in one hour in the large dining hall, and that there will be several guests attending. I think it’s supposed to be a farewell dinner or something,” he adds, dropping his formal demeanour, and allowing his face to adopt his usual half-bored-half-amused expression.

Charles sighs again, and Logan smiles crookedly, closing the door behind himself.

“You alright, Chuck?” he asks once the door has clicked shut and he can be sure he’s out of earshot of anyone else.

“No,” Charles mumbles, staring out of the window again. “Not really.”

He hears Logan approaching, then he feels a gentle hand on his shoulders.

“You will be though. You’ll see. Personally I can’t wait for you to be Emperor.”

Charles pulls a grimace. “You’re one of few. The whole aristocracy is only waiting for me to fuck it all up.”

Logan lets out a bark of laughter. “Watch your language, your Majesty.”

Charles can’t help but grin at that. “You’re the one who taught me those words in the first place.”

“Well, don’t let the  _ Emperor _ know or I’ll be in trouble,” Logan smirks.

It’s a shame that Logan won’t be coming with him on his trip, since he always finds a way to cheer Charles up when he feels as though the expectations are going to crush him. Charles was counting on him being there for weeks, only to be informed by Kurt three days before his departure that Logan was indispensable at the palace and would be staying on Earth. Charles had trouble understanding for a moment how his own personal bodyguard could be indispensable in his absence, but Kurt simply started ranting about security protocols and important jobs that only Logan could do, and Charles found himself giving up quickly, as always overcome with the old feeling of powerlessness and inferiority in his mentor’s presence.

It’s always the damn same thing, whenever something comes up that Charles doesn’t understand or disagrees with. He should stand up to Kurt, not acquiesce to everything Kurt dishes up right in front of him, but somehow he can’t. For some reason he’s still afraid of Kurt—after all this time, and even though he knows it’s ridiculous, because what could Kurt possibly do to him now? Charles is the heir to the throne after all, and soon he’ll be Emperor.

A coward will be Emperor.

 

Dinner goes well enough. The guests turn out to be a couple of ministers and their wives, as well as Captain Shaw. Their conversation mostly circles around space travel and the colonies, which means Shaw talks a lot of the time, while everyone listens politely and Raven shifts around in her seat looking bored.

She’s never been one to hide her emotional state very well—much to her father’s dismay. Charles on the other hand, who’s mastered the art of concealing his own feelings a long time ago and can’t help feeling uneasy at his own stony expression in the mirror sometimes, finds her honesty and openness refreshing. It’s part of why he loves having her around so much. With Raven, at least, he can always be sure he’s not lied to. If she thinks he’s being an idiot she will tell him so, and if she praises him for something he can be sure she really means it. Others just smile and compliment him for one thing or another even though he knows most of them secretly dislike and despise him.

The ministers, Shaw, and Kurt look as ridiculous as ever wearing their large and heavy helmets, designed to guard them against telepathic attacks, but Charles has gotten so used to the sight by now that he hardly notices it. It used to hurt him once, as he couldn't help but feel as though it was Kurt’s way of demonstrating that Charles was someone not to be trusted, someone he needed to guard himself from, even though Charles knew even then that Kurt was also taking precautions against any other powerful telepath trying to overthrow him. And in any case, nobody but Kurt, Cain, Raven and a few of their most trusted employees (Logan for instance, and Hank) know about his mutation, and Kurt definitely doesn’t want word to get out about it—not that it matters anymore now that Charles has lost it anyway...

By now, all of the most important members of the government, all ministers, captains, higher administrators, governors, and commanders wear a helmet like that, and if it were up to Kurt, he’d probably make all of his employees wear one. However, that would be far too expensive as even one of them costs half a fortune to make, and so only about a hundred of these monstrosities exist—reserved for only the most important people in the Empire.

Charles should probably wear one too. He’s susceptible to telepathic attacks since he can’t protect himself anymore, and Kurt has told him several times to start wearing one, and that he’s putting the whole Empire at risk if he doesn’t. However, the idea of even touching one of these ghastly things makes Charles feel slightly nauseous. And right now at least he’s not going to come into contact with any telepaths other than Emma Frost, since she vets all their employees, and she definitely wouldn’t allow another telepath to cross the threshold of the palace.

Shaw rambles on all evening about various aspects of space travel and personal achievements of his, and Charles catches himself thinking—not for the first time—that there’s probably nobody in the whole Empire who loves to hear themselves talk as much as the Captain—not even Kurt. Raven’s expression grows more and more exasperated, slumped on her chair, staring at the clock, clearly only just stopping herself from just getting up and walking away. Charles feels himself growing impatient too as it gets later and later—far later than such a dinner would usually last—especially when he starts noticing the uncomfortable tingling sensation in his calves, which tells him that he’ll have to find a way to get back to his quarters within the next hour or he’ll risk exposing a secret that he knows needs to stay hidden.

Luckily Kurt seems to take the hint when Charles looks at him pointedly, and manages to wrap up the conversation rather quickly. Nevertheless, by the time Charles has bid farewell to their guests and accepted their (disingenuous) well-wishes for his journey, the tingling sensation has grown into real pain, spreading all the way up to his lower spine, and making it hard for him to keep smiling politely. And not just that. He can hear the mumbling again as well—still indiscernible, almost more like a humming noise than human speech—but still it drives him crazy and makes his head throb painfully.

It’s a good thing Logan is waiting for him outside the door of the dining hall as usual, and even better that all the guests are already out of sight, because as Charles attempts to walk down the corridor both quickly and in a dignified manner he stumbles for the first time and would have hit his head against the wall if it weren’t for Logan’s strong arms catching hold of him just in time.

“Careful there, Chuck,” Logan mumbles under his breath. “Lean on my arm, that’ll hardly be noticeable.”

They just manage to make it all the way back to Charles’ quarters before Charles collapses in a chair next to the door, covered in sweat, his face screwed up in pain. His legs and lower back feel as though they’re on fire, and the mumbling has grown louder too, single words almost discernible between the humming and hissing. If Charles didn’t know better he’d be sure his head must burst any moment from the pressure building up inside it. He can’t think straight, can’t see properly, the room going in and out of focus constantly.

There are strong hands grasping his arm and pulling up his sleeve, slinging a belt around it and pulling it tight. Logan mutters something that Charles doesn’t understand through all the noise in his head. A cold sensation on his forearm, and then—finally—the light sting of a needle breaking his skin, and the familiar sensation of cool liquid running through his veins.

Charles takes a shaking breath as the pain grows fainter and fainter and the mumbling dies away again. The room slowly comes back into focus, and so does Logan’s concerned face right in front of him.

“Okay, Chuck?”

“Yeah,” Charles mumbles. His legs feel light and shaky and his mind still buzzes softly. He’s exhausted, and not just by the walk through the palace or the voices. The damned serum, working its way through his body, always has that effect. It’s why he takes it in the evenings.

Charles watches Logan carefully store away the belt again in a dresser, and toss the syringe and needle into a container next to it. Charles’ eyes keep sliding shut, but he forces them back open. He doesn’t want Logan to have to carry him to his bed, or even help him get changed. They’ve been through this before, and it didn’t feel right.

“What do I do when I run out of this stuff?” Charles hears himself ask quietly. It’s a personal nightmare of his—one that becomes even scarier in light of the impending two-month-long trip.

“You won’t,” Logan replies simply, turning around and walking back to him. “Hank will be with you and he’ll make sure you never run out.” He takes hold of Charles’ upper arm. “Come on, before you fall asleep on the chair.”

 

As always, a night’s sleep cures most of the serum’s tiring effects and in the morning Charles feels almost back to normal—or as normal as it’s possible to feel on the day of his departure into space. He’s not exhausted anymore at least, but he feels slightly sick and shaky, and his head still hurts a little.

Breakfast tastes insipid that day, even though it’s surely as excellent as usual, and Charles can hardly get down a bite. He’s unreasonably nervous at the prospect of boarding his ship an hour later, and even reminding himself that it’ll mean two months without having to be in a room with Kurt or Cain doesn’t change it.

Raven on the other hand is in a great mood. She keeps throwing him radiant smiles, while she stuffs more food into her mouth than anatomically possible, and once they’ve finished and are good to go she practically runs out of the dining room to get changed again for the trip, earning her a sour look from her father.

Charles takes his time strolling through the corridors in silence, Logan by his side. It’s not as though he’ll have to fear the ship leaving without him, so he doesn’t need to hurry. And he really doesn’t feel like parting from Logan—his only real friend in his life—sooner than he needs to. Raven is fun to be around, and Hank is interesting to talk to, but neither of them know as much about Charles as Logan does, and neither of them have stood by him through so many dark times—or even been more than a friend occasionally. It’ll be lonely without Logan, that’s for sure, and Charles can’t quite help admitting that the prospect of being without Logan in spheres yet unknown to him scares the hell out of him. Logan means safety. Logan’s been watching over him every day for more than five years now, and even the thought of no longer being able to rely on his bodyguard and best friend if something happened makes Charles’ blood grow cold. Sure, there will be other bodyguards to take care of him, but the idea of them watching him, perhaps witnessing his more vulnerable moments makes Charles terribly uncomfortable.

_ Why _ can’t he take Logan with him? What in the universe can be more important than the future Emperor’s safety? And  _ he _ hired Logan, Logan’s only ever worked for  _ him, _ so why—

Charles shakes his head slightly, trying to rid his mind of the frustration, the anger, and the worry. In only about half an hour he’ll step outside, walk past all ship-workers to board the most glorious ship mankind has ever built—his ship. He’ll have to show some dignity. All eyes will be on him after all. As Kurt always says—a sovereign can never betray even the slightest bit of weakness, or people will lose trust in him. Keep your head up high, always wear a dignified expression, walk confidently, and grasp other people’s hands with force. All of that will tell people that you deserve their respect.

Only, Charles isn’t quite so sure himself that he deserves these people’s respect.

When it’s time to say goodbye, after a servant has stuck his head inside to remind Charles that he’s scheduled to board the ship at any moment, then disappeared again, Logan’s inscrutable, yet reassuring expression falters for a moment, and he pulls Charles into a tight hug, whispering into his ear “Take care, bub. I need you back in one piece.”

Charles can’t respond. A large lump in his throat makes it impossible for him to speak, and so he just squeezes his friend’s broad chest tightly before they break apart, and—unsure whether he’ll be able to hold back tears if he keeps looking at Logan—turns around without another glance, stepping through the door into the corridor.

 

Luckily boarding doesn’t take long, and isn’t as bad as Charles feared, since Shaw seems determined to direct all the attention to himself by shouting out loud orders and gesticulating wildly as Raven and Charles follow him onto the ship. Kurt would be annoyed by that kind of behaviour, but Charles really doesn’t mind. He doesn’t much enjoy being the centre of attention anyway, especially not in the middle of thousands of workers he’s never even seen before, but who surely have some kind of preconception in their minds of what kind of person he is.

Shaw escorts them to their quarters, then bids them farewell as he leaves for the command bridge to oversee take-off. As always, Charles isn’t sad to see him go. Something about the man always makes him uneasy for some reason. He just can’t bring himself to trust him.

Not much later, Charles and Raven are sitting next to one another in their take-off seats in the lounge with their seatbelts on, while the engines growl into life. Charles closes his eyes as he feels the familiar pressure on his chest and in his ears. He hates take-off, it makes him feel as though he’s being crushed. Raven, who’s never been to space before, groans next to him, but the sound is almost completely swallowed by the loud noise of the engine. Charles keeps his eyes firmly closed so as not to have to see everything around them shake and quiver. The last time he had them open during take-off he embarrassed himself by being sick all over his seat—something he wants to avoid at all costs this time. 

It's shorter this time than the last time he went into space, which is not that surprising considering the Magnificence is supposed to be the fastest ship ever built, and Charles takes a deep breath, when after about half an hour the noise and wobble dies away and a voice announces that it’s safe to unfasten their seatbelts.

His head still hurts and he still feels sick, though luckily not as terribly as on previous occasions.

Raven, of course, is on her feet almost at once. “Oh my god, are we really in space?”

“Must be.” Charles rubs his eyes. “I hate take-off.”

He doesn’t get a chance to make himself comfortable and wait for his nausea to pass, because Raven pulls him up on his feet impatiently. 

“Come on, let’s look outside, maybe we can see the Earth,” she squeels excitedly.

Reluctantly he follows her to the wall lined with small and round windows, but he doesn’t lean down to stare outside like her. The sight of stars passing at cyberspeed might make his head spin and cause him to feel even more nauseous.

“Oh,” Raven breathes. “It’s so far away already, hardly bigger than a marble.” She turns to look at him. “Do you know how fast we’re going?”

Charles manages a smile. “I have no idea. Pretty fast.”

She looks back out of the window, her eyes wide in fascination. “This ship is amazing, isn’t it?”

Charles risks a glance out of the window too. It’s hard to make out anything in all the blackness, but there are a few lights visible in the far distance, and a few closer ones whizzing by. It’s a sight that has always made him feel uncomfortable—small, insignificant, and terribly powerless—but he’ll have to get used to it. He’ll be on this ship for the next two months after all.

“It’s impressive, yeah,” he says vaguely, not wanting to ruin her moment of amazement.

She beams at him. “I’m so glad I could come with you. This is so exciting.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me too,” Charles responds softly, and however queasy he might feel he definitely means it.

 

Raven is so fascinated by the sight outside the window that she can’t tear herself away from it. Charles doesn’t mind. He still isn’t feeling great and craves to be alone in any case. It might be a good idea to have a look around their quarters on his own, maybe find himself a nice spot to read in the following months, and a place to hide in case he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone. Maybe the walking will even help him think and cure his buzzing head a little. He still needs to decide on how best to approach the governors in the colonies—and the first meeting will be in less than twenty-four hours. There’s not much time.

What a nightmare. He definitely needs to think about this some more.

However, his hope of being alone in the corridors and rooms of the top deck is soon disappointed. There seem to be servants everywhere, either busy doing their work, or just standing around waiting for orders. It’s not what he was counting on. He just wanted to be unwatched for a little while, not have anyone’s eyes on him. He aches to just be left alone with his thoughts for a moment.

Sometimes he wonders whether this recurring desire to be left alone stems from the time when he still had his telepathy. Back in those days, when he wasn’t feeling great being around people was hard to bear, especially since it was those times that he found it extremely difficult to shut out everyone else’s minds. And so he couldn’t help overhearing all the derisive thoughts, all the doubts that he’d ever be as good an Emperor as his father, all the people perceiving him as weak. It used to give him the worst headaches, and the only thing that helped a little was removing himself from the crowded halls and locking himself into his dark bedroom, walking around in circles inside it. And then there were all those times that he couldn’t concentrate because other people’s thoughts kept intruding, and all those times that he wasn’t sure whether a decision he made was truly his own, or whether he’d just picked up the thought somewhere.

Now, of course, it’s not his telepathy that’s giving him headaches, and it’s not his telepathy that’s making it hard for him to concentrate either, but nevertheless it just feels as though it all could be helped by just being left alone and in peace for once—even if that’s just some kind of placebo effect. He desperately needs to be left alone.

Charles considers going to his bedroom for a moment—dinner is still a few hours away after all. He could read, or set himself up a game of chess on the holoscreen. However, the idea of playing against a computer instead of his best friend is more depressing than Charles could bear at this moment (even though Logan has never been particularly good at chess), and he doesn’t want to go to bed—that would just make him feel worse.

No, he needs to be on the move so he can think properly and effectively. Standing still or lying down just makes his thoughts go round in circles, moving makes them go forward. It’s what has always helped him concentrate and see things more clearly. But he also needs to get away from these people. He definitely needs some time alone. Some space.

When nobody’s looking in his direction for a moment, Charles manages to squeeze through a door that, as it turns out, leads to one of the stairwells connecting the top deck with the lower decks. Charles squints down the metal stairs, trying to make out anything, but it’s impossible. There are simply doors leading out of the stairwell at each deck, but what lies beyond them is hidden from his eyes.

Charles hesitates. He knows he’s supposed to stay on the top deck, where everything is glamourous and furnished in gold and satin, where servants and guards can keep an eye on him to make sure he’s safe and whatnot, but he can’t deny that the idea of exploring the rest of the ship intrigues him. Shouldn’t almost everyone be busy working at the moment, so close after take-off? Shouldn’t the corridors with the crew’s quarters be almost empty? Surely it can’t hurt to have a look around the ship, can it? It’s  _ his _ ship after all, or it soon will be. He’s got to have the right to look around  _ his _ ship. And who’s supposed to stop him anyway? He’s the Crown Prince, the Emperor-to-be—who on this ship could order him to do anything? Kurt’s not here after all.

Casting one last quick glance at the door leading back into the royal quarters, Charles grasps the cold metal stair rail, and hurries down to the lower decks.


	3. 1.3 Erik

As it turns out, neither Erik nor Alex or Darwin are going to see a lot of space or the planets they’re visiting. Shifts are long and mostly take them into the stockroom or the engine room —neither of which have windows. On top of that most of the crew’s cabins are situated in the centre of the ship, the ones with windows reserved for higher-ranked members such as the pilots, cooks, and commanding officers. There’s one windowed corridor leading to the shuttle garages on the fourth deck, but that’s it. And none of the workers will have a lot of time lingering in that particular corridor—especially since the place is out of bounds unless you’re assigned to work there.

It’s the same typical shit again. Erik’s never been to the royal quarters, but he’s seen it from the outside and it’s lined with fucking windows. It’s as though they’ve made absolutely sure none of them will have to take even one step without getting the most amazing view into space. And they probably haven’t got anything else to do than stare out of the window anyway—while their employees work twelve-hour shifts for them (Earth hours, because you need some kind of feeling of time, even though there is none in space), and aren’t even granted the simple pleasure of taking one look outside. It’s the old take-from-the-poor-to-give-to-the-rich system in a nutshell, and the injustice of it all makes Erik’s blood boil.

But he has to keep calm. He can’t do anything stupid. He needs to keep his head down, keep focused, and try and get to Shaw.

Since he was already busy the hours before take-off, filling up all the tanks and cleaning, Erik’s shift ends once they’ve left the Earth’s atmosphere and are gliding elegantly through space—or so he suspects, given that doesn’t get a chance to glance outside. 

He nods goodbye to Darwin, who is busy cleaning up a mess someone made, and leaves the noisy, hot engine room smelling of fuel and oil behind as he makes for the stairs. It’s a long walk. The ship is huge and Erik wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out the corridors were several miles long in total. Getting from his tiny cabin to the engine room took him about fifteen minutes this morning, and the walk is bound to be even longer if he works in the stockroom or the kitchen. Erik doesn’t mind it, not even a bit. He likes walking, especially on his own. 

The corridors just outside the engine room are completely empty and astonishingly silent as soon as the large metal door has slid shut behind Erik. It’s truly amazing how little you can hear the sound of the engine here. It must have been different during take-off, when the whole ship shook and roared from the mind-boggling power of the rocket nozzles, but now the ship might not be moving at all for all Erik feels or hears.

Erik starts walking down the corridor in the direction of the stairwells, his thoughts, as ever falling into place faster and more efficiently when he’s on the move, are on Shaw again. Erik hasn’t seen the man at all yet, though he knows he must be on the ship somewhere. He’s probably on the second deck, where the commando bridge as well as the Captain’s quarters are located. And in all probability he’ll never be fucking anywhere else for the whole trip.

Before he boarded the ship Erik thought Shaw’s cabin would be somewhere near all the other ones, on the same deck as his own. He only learnt that it was completely separate from everything else in the last hours, and it still makes him panic slightly. Or a lot. In fact, his mind hasn’t stopped whirling ever since. He’ll  _ have to _ find a way around this.

There’s really no reason for Shaw to ever climb lower than the second deck—and no justification for Erik to go anywhere higher than the third one, where the crew’s cabins are located. It looks bad alright. There’s no way Erik will simply pass Shaw in the corridor while nobody’s watching, no way he can sneak up to his cabin while he’s asleep and the corridors are empty. 

But it’s not like Erik to give up because of something like this. Yes, it looks bad, and his original plan won’t work anymore, but there must be another way. There always is. There must be some way to get assigned to work on the bridge. They need cleaners, don’t they? Someone to bring them food?

Erik has only walked for about a minute, and is just starting to contemplate what to do next when he rounds a corner and stops in his tracks as he spots someone who is not wearing uniform and therefore clearly not supposed to be anywhere near the engine room.

“Oi, what are you doing here?” Erik yells.

The man turns around, surprise written all over his face, and Erik’s heart skips a beat.

It can’t be him. What is the fucking  _ Crown Prince  _ doing down here?

“I beg your pardon?” The Prince sounds polite, fucking posh, and also taken aback by Erik’s rudeness.

Erik’s mind is whirling, trying to grasp the whole absurd situation at hand, but struggling to figure out fast what to do. 

If he’s rude to the Crown Prince, he might just bury any hope he ever had of getting to work on the higher decks right here. If he offends the Crown Prince he can be sure he’ll only get to do the very worst jobs from now on—if they don’t chuck him into a cell that is. And it’s entirely possible he’s already ruined everything with what he just said.

But then...what’s that light blush on the Prince’s cheeks? There’s the same arrogant, superior look on his face that they royals all wear—perhaps weakened by the astonishing blue of his eyes, which the screens on Earth didn’t do justice—but there’s also a definite tinge of pink. It goes well with his lips, which are ridiculously red...

“I apologise, your Majesty, I didn’t recognise you,” Erik says as politely as he can muster, and he bows, though not as low as he probably should. He can’t help that the words come with a slightly sarcastic, disdainful tone too, which he hopes very much will remain undetected by the Prince.

Erik keeps his head down after he has spoken. His social status doesn’t permit him to look the Prince full in the face, and if the Prince at all cares about adhering to the protocol (which he probably does, let’s face it), Erik’s just seriously violated the code of conduct. He holds his breath, while waiting for the Prince to do something, preferably turn around and walk away, or tell him to leave—anything to get out of the situation without causing any more damage, but nothing happens. The Prince doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t leave either.

After a moment, unsure what to do, Erik risks another glance into the Prince’s face. He’s watching Erik intently, curiously. As he catches Erik’s eye he finally speaks again.

“What’s your name?”

Erik hesitates. Protocol forbids him to speak to the Prince or look directly at him. On the other hand, he’s already done both things, not to mention that the Prince has just asked him a question and might find it extremely rude if Erik didn’t answer. 

But why does the Prince want to know his name anyway? Surely he’s asking so he can report him to Shaw or another of Erik’s superiors. But Erik can’t lie to the  _ Crown Prince, _ he’ll have to tell him his real name—or what everyone here thinks his real name is—or he might just as well lock himself into a cell right at this moment.

“Max Eisenhardt, your Majesty,” Erik mumbles, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second. 

“Max?”

Erik wishes he could see the Prince’s expression, get some clue about what’s going on. 

“What do you do, Max? What is your job?” 

The Prince’s voice sounds friendly and mildly curious, as though they were just making polite conversation, but Erik doesn’t trust it. There’s got to be more to this. The Prince is probably just trying to find out a little more about him before he tells on him. He’s trying to lure Erik into a feeling of safety, play with him, make him feel as though they’re friends before he throws him to the wolves. Erik’s witnessed people in power play these kinds of sick games with poor people at their mercy before. 

The memory of these incidents makes Erik feel sick with revulsion and fury.

“I’m just a cabin boy, your Majesty,” Erik says quietly, looking back down at the floor, trying very hard to keep his face blank and expressionless, hoping against hope that the Prince will stop interrogating him and just let him go. 

The Prince seems to have other plans, however.

“Oh really?” he asks curiously. “What are your responsibilities?”

Erik is taken aback by the Prince’s apparent lack of knowledge about space travel and its ranks, but he tries not to show his disdain. Perhaps it’s a good thing his face is partly hidden.

“I’m not more than a footboy, your Majesty. I do whatever I’m told to do.” And again, Erik has trouble hiding the derisive tone of his voice.

The Prince either doesn’t notice, or chooses to ignore it. 

“I know I sound pretty clueless,” he says with a small and slightly embarrassed laugh. “But what happens down here? Where does this corridor lead to?”

Erik can’t suppress a frown there, though he hopes it’ll go unnoticed. 

Is the Prince fucking kidding him right now? Doesn’t he know  _ anything? _ Didn’t he even bother to have a look around his own ship to know how it works, and to see where his workers spend their time working their guts out for his fucking comfort?

“The engine room, your Majesty,” he presses out through clenched teeth, unable to hide his anger and annoyance any longer.

Erik can tell that the Prince is ready to speak again, but luckily for Erik at the same moment a man in a black suit and tie comes hurrying down the corridor behind the Prince.

Erik quickly bows lower, making sure his face is completely hidden.

“Your Majesty,” the man says. There’s a pause as he surely takes a bow too. “We’ve been looking for you, sir. We were worried.”

The Prince sighs. “I was just taking a look around, Matthew. No reason to get worried.”

“Well, it’s inadvisable for you to inspect the ship unaccompanied, sir,” the man says in a rather cautious tone. “Some parts of the ship are rather dangerous.”

It’s only too clear he wants to tell the Prince not to be a moron and run off like a five-year-old, but he doesn’t dare since protocol dictates he treat the Prince with respect however idiotic he behaves. Erik quite feels for the man. He couldn’t do his job for even a day without whipping the Prince’s snobbish, clueless, and pretentious arse.

The Prince sighs again. “Very well. I’ll go back to the top deck then, I guess. Have a good day, Max.”

Erik doesn’t say anything, afraid to speak in the company of the bodyguard or whatever Matthew represents. He nods though, his head still bowed low, and waits, listening to the sound of footsteps fading away, until he deems it safe to look back up again.

What the hell was that?

 

Over the next days (Earth days, obviously), Erik’s senses are on red alert, constantly waiting for something to happen, for someone to walk up to him, to ask him to follow them to his superior’s office. He can’t believe that his little run-in with the Crown Prince himself won’t have any consequences. Erik was rude to him in many ways after all, he shouted at him, looked him straight in the face, and the Crown Prince can’t possibly have failed to notice the anger in Erik’s voice. There’s no way he won’t punish Erik for any of it. Erik’s been punished for much less by authorities all his life, even the slightest bit of disrespect was always penalised severely. Erik always got the impression that disrespect was the very worst possible crime—because demanding respect and penalising the lack of it cruelly is what keeps everyone in their place, isn’t it? It’s what this damned system runs on—so it’s not fucking possible that this  _ worst offense _ of Erik’s will go unpunished.

And if that means that everything Erik fought for those last thirteen years will be for naught, just because the stupid Prince couldn’t stay in his gold and satin chambers…

Erik accidentally dents the metal floor he’s scrubbing with his powers and has to clandestinely repair it.

He won’t let it happen. If they arrest him, if they lock him up, he’ll find a way to get out and if he has to kill everyone who steps in his way. Maybe, if they arrest him on the ship, Shaw will somehow be involved. Even if it’s not what Erik always wanted—kill the man in secret and get away with it to get to all the other men who deserve just the same—he’ll have to just try and kill Shaw then—just rip a piece of metal out of the wall, turn it into a weapon and slice his throat. He’s practiced this thousands of times. It’ll be quick. They won’t have time to stop him.

But it would be much better if he didn’t have to do this, if he could just keep waiting for a better opportunity...

When after two days still nothing has happened the fear doesn’t exactly fade—because how could Erik make himself believe that the Prince will just let it slide?—but it transforms into real anger and frustration.

What is the Prince waiting for? Is this part of his game? After all his pretentious smalltalk is he now trying to make Erik believe that nothing will happen before he strikes? What is he waiting for? Or has he maybe really forgotten all about it, for the moment at least? Was meeting Erik that insignificant? And, once he remembers him, will he also remember to punish him?

The suspense, not knowing what’s going to happen to him, is almost unbearable, and Erik sleeps badly, just tossing and turning all night every night. He tries very hard to keep his head down during the day, not make anyone notice him more than necessary. 

If only he can get through maybe two or three weeks without anything happening, maybe, just maybe, he can start trying to make his superiors assign him to work on the bridge in some way—maybe even clean the Captain’s quarters, anything. But not yet, right now he needs to be careful...

They soon reach the first planetary colonies and take several hour-long halts in the orbit just outside the planets’ atmospheres. Since not all planets are equipped to hosting a ship as large as the Magnificence, and since landing and take-off of such an enormous ship costs a fortune, the ship stays in space and a small formation of shuttles leave for the planet, carrying the Crown Prince as well as several pilots and workers whose job it is to procure more fuel for the engines as well as stock up on food rations and medical equipment if necessary.  Though of course Erik only knows all this from hearsay, since he doesn’t actually get a chance to look outside and watch the spectacle for himself.

The rest of the workers usually get time off while the Crown Prince is away, which means that the common room and canteen (both also windowless by the way) come to life with talk and laughter, with stories and songs.

The first time Erik finds himself in the middle of it he feels entirely lost. He doesn’t have stories to tell, or at least no funny or happy ones, none he’d feel comfortable sharing, and he barely knows any songs except German lullabies from his childhood. He half listens to other people’s tales, sometimes pretending to laugh at their jokes, while his mind has already drifted off again, to his one greatest enemy, and to the question of how he can finally bring him down.

However, his worry about his conversation with the Prince never quite leaves Erik either. He finds his thoughts slipping away from Shaw at times and to the Crown Prince on an unknown planet, chatting to some government official, some governor. Erik has trouble imagining it. Even though he knows the Prince is almost twenty-five, just like himself, he looks a lot younger, and his rosy cheeks and blue eyes don’t really help make him look more authoritative. Maybe if he grew a beard that would do the trick, but on some people it just looks ridiculous. The Prince might be one of those red-bearded viking-types for all Erik knows. He’s definitely got the pale skin and freckles.

At this point Erik angrily withdraws from these thoughts, forcing them back on Shaw, on his hatred for the man, on his plan to make him pay. Make them all pay.

What does Erik care if the Prince doesn’t get taken seriously or perhaps even laughed at? He’d deserve any bad treatment simply for being part of the whole fucked-up system, for being an essential component of the oppressing regime. Erik can’t fall back into his old childish frame of mind, into regarding the unknown Prince as someone good-natured, or even a friend, when this  _ friend _ probably didn’t give shit as he found out what happened to Erik’s parents and so many others—what’s still happening to people all over the Empire. Otherwise there would have been consequences. Shaw would be in prison, and not fucking Captain of the Magnificence. 

No, the Crown Prince deserves all the bad things, and definitely not anyone’s concern.

After about five to six hours a bell calls everyone back, and Erik forces himself out of his thoughts to step in line with everyone on their way back to work. Soon after, the engine comes to life again, taking them further on, deeper into the galaxy, and off to new planets Erik’s never even heard of.

 

Life on the ship may be dull—especially as a cabin boy, with no interesting or challenging work to do and no means of watching the stars rush by—but Erik enjoys the simplicity of it. His tasks never require him to concentrate, and so he can spend all his time thinking, plotting Shaw’s downfall, coming up with ideas for what he’ll do if things go wrong, daydreaming about the satisfaction he’ll feel once the deed is done. Plus, there’s the organised time schedule, the simulation of day and night corresponding to their original earthly timezone. Erik knows exactly when to sleep, when to eat, and when to work, and he doesn’t have to organise anything himself—because there’s people telling him what to do, and people deciding on the menu.

It kind of reminds him of life at the orphanage, which wasn’t always bad. There were good people there, people who truly cared, even though they didn’t have the means of tending to the children as well as they’d liked. True, there were also cruel wardens, ones that enjoyed their power too much and liked to order the children around, or punish them—but there was always at least one person who cared a lot. And the fixed schedule definitely helped. At least there was food on the table every day—even if it didn’t taste good.

After almost three weeks in space Erik dares hope for the first time that the Crown Prince might actually have forgotten about him and his rudeness. It angers him simultaneously, the fact that the Prince apparently really doesn’t give a damn about anything outside his golden palace on the top deck, but nevertheless Erik has to be grateful about it. Fate might just give him a second chance to achieve his goal. He might have gotten away with it.

However, as Erik makes his way back to his cabin after another twelve-hour-shift early one Earth morning—just as this hopeful thought starts to properly form in his brain, allowing him to relax slightly for the first time since his encounter with the Crown Prince—there’s a loud bang, and the red mutant—Shaw’s right-hand man—appears right in front of Erik.

_ A teleporter, _ Erik catches himself thinking—how fascinating, and even more so since the ship is moving faster than lightning speed—how would that work?

“Eisenhardt?” the red-skinned mutant asks. His voice is rough and deep, and he’s got an accent that Erik can’t immediately place.

“Yes, sir” Erik responds, coming to a halt immediately, and saluting.  _ This _ is the man he needs to impress after all.

“You can fly a shuttle?”

“Um…”

“You can?” the red-skinned mutant repeats impatiently.

“Yes, I know how to fly a shuttle,” Erik splutters, barely able to properly grasp what’s going on. “Sir” he remembers to add just in time. 

What does this mean? Is this a chance? Is something good finally happening to him? Or is it a bad thing? Isn’t attracting attention always a bad thing? In the past at least it was for Erik...

“Good,” the man nods. “Take my hand.”

Before Erik can form a coherent thought there’s a red flash before his eyes, a light pull in his chest, and he finds himself in what is unmistakably the ship’s shuttle garage.

_ I just teleported, _ Erik realises. Besides all his nerves, his never-dying anger, and his dislike of the red-skinned mutant for being close to Shaw, Erik can’t deny that he’s excited by the thought. It wasn’t bad either—he still feels a little dizzy, somewhat lightheaded—but maybe that’s just part of teleporting within a ship that moves a fast as the Magnificence.

The other man seems completely unperturbed by the whole event—of course, it must be as normal to him as feeling the metal around himself is for Erik.

“I’ve got a job for you,” he says in his deep growl, and Erik hastens to straighten up again.

There’s a sudden burst of elation in his mind—perhaps it’s got to do with the fuzzy feeling in his stomach resulting from the teleporting—but for a moment he’s convinced that finally the universe has decided to gift him with an opportunity to prove himself. He can’t blow this. They’ll let him fly a shuttle, probably to transport fuel or aliments. If they realise that he’d make a good shuttle pilot, it would allow him to climb up a few ranks, and that in turn would boost his chances of meeting Shaw in person. 

“The ship is about to reach Atria,” the red-skinned mutant continues. “The Crown Prince has a brief meeting there. Several of our pilots have fallen ill, and the others are needed on the bridge. Since we’re well-equipped with everything we need and the next stop is only about twenty hours away, the Captain decided to only send one shuttle out to Atria—escorting the Crown Prince to his meeting. He also decided to allot this very important job to you because every pilot is indispensable on the ship at the moment and because he heard that you were reliable and reticent. It’s a very short trip, but nevertheless you understand that a lot of responsibility comes with it, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Erik responds quickly, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest, while his elation deflates as quickly as if someone had punctured it with a needle.

It’s a great opportunity, it is—suspiciously great actually—or it would be if it weren’t for the fact that the prospect of being in a shuttle with the Crown Prince himself—even if it’s a short trip—fills Erik with nothing but dread.

What if the Prince has forgotten about him, and meeting him again will remind him of punishing Erik? Or what if—Erik’s heart skips another beat at the thought—all this is simply part of the Prince’s little game? What if he  _ hasn’t _ forgotten? What if the red-skinned mutant is lying, and it wasn’t Shaw’s idea at all to assign Erik to this job, but the Prince’s own? What has he got planned? 

Erik notices the other man is still talking and forcefully pulls himself back to reality.

“—to fly the direct path through Atria’s atmosphere and land the shuttle on the great platform that should be visible as soon as you’ve plunged through the clouds. It’s a small planet, so the journey won’t be long. As you land, security guards will escort the Crown Prince from the shuttle. You will wait there until he returns and then direct the shuttle safely back to the ship. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Erik replies again. 

There’s no trace left of his momentary elation, all of it replaced by dread and unease. For a moment it seemed as though the universe was being kind to him for once, but now...nothing about this sounds good—it seems highly unlikely that an opportunity like that would just arise out of nowhere, and that he, Erik, would be picked out of all people. There must be some kind of plan, and it can’t be good, at least not for him. It’s never good for him.

Erik half feels like declining the offer, asking them to get somebody else to chauffeur the Prince around—but he knows it’s not actually an offer, but an order. He can’t turn it down. It would kill any chance he ever had at getting to Shaw. They’d probably lock him away or only let him clean the crew’s toilets from now on.

“Good,” says the red-skinned man again. “This is the shuttle.” He points at a polished two-seated vehicle, which emits the same silvery-white glow as the Magnificence. “Your uniform is on the pilot’s seat. Put it on. You will wait here until the Crown Prince arrives.”

And with that he disappears in a puff of red smoke.

Erik spots the uniform in the pilot’s seat at once and gets changed, before he walks over to the window and stares outside in an effort to clear his head and keep his mind on positive thoughts. 

_ Theoretically it could really be a coincidence,  _ he keeps telling himself. Perhaps the Prince didn’t request him, perhaps he did forget and won’t recognise him at all—he didn’t see Erik’s face for long after all, and now Erik is wearing a completely different uniform. Perhaps meeting Erik meant so little to the Prince that he doesn’t remember anything about it in any case.

Erik keeps repeating those words over and over in his head, as he stares outside, for the first time in his life watching stars rush past in the distance. It does the trick. He doesn’t freak out at least, which is essential. He’ll need his wits about him, for whatever is going to happen to him soon.

After a few minutes the ship perceptibly slows down. Erik cranes his neck in an effort of spotting the unknown planet—Atria—outside the window.

The first thing he sees isn’t Atria but the gargantuan and beautiful sun of the solar system, burning hotly and brightly in the far distance. He’s never even seen the Earth’s sun like that, it’s absolutely breathtaking, awe-inspiring, but also slightly frightening. He’s never seen anything as powerful, destructive and indestructible in his life.

Erik’s almost disappointed when he turns slightly and spots Atria, because after its sun it looks tiny and not nearly as exciting as the illustrations of planets in the book he owned as a child. It really is small—or maybe it just appears to be. It’s hard to be sure about things like size in space. It looks kind of similar to Earth, but definitely not the same. It’s not quite as blue as Erik’s home planet for one, but mostly green and white. Snow? Perhaps, or maybe clouds, but also plants, which is always a clear sign that there must be oxygen to breathe, and that the temperature is bearable—at least that’s what Erik’s father used to tell him.

“The colonialists always knew that a planet was worth exploring if there was a lot of green on it,” he used to tell Erik as they flicked through Erik’s book, examining the illustrations. “That’s how you can tell that human life on a planet is possible. If you can’t spot any green, you better not try landing on it. It might be the last thing you do.”

Atria looks habitable from Erik’s perspective, based on what he knows about the planetary colonies—which is not much—and it should be if it’s a colony of the Empire. Maybe the one good thing about this special assignment is that Erik will get to see a completely different planet—even if it’s the last thing he does.

And it might well be if the Crown Prince is only half the sick bastard his mentor Emperor Marko is rumoured to be.


	4. 1.4 Charles

Raven’s initial enthusiasm about space travel doesn’t last more than a few Earth days, but Charles never expected it to anyway. Raven gets extremely excited about things but tires of them just as quickly.

As Charles returns from his first official visit — to a large and beautiful planet called Trelos , which harbours the largest human population on a planetary colony of about three million people—he finds Raven in the lounge, spread over one of the sofas, staring blankly into the room.

Charles doesn’t pay her a lot of attention at first, sinking onto a sofa himself, his mind still on the conversation he had with Trelos’ governor, an intimidating man by the name of William Stryker. Stryker reminded him a little of Kurt in the way he held himself and talked, though he seemed less unstable and exuded more confidence. Charles couldn’t help feeling intimidated by the man, all too aware of his own short stature as he had to crane his neck to look Stryker in the eyes, not to mention his boyish looks. Even though Stryker adhered to protocol and demonstrated all due respect in Charles’ presence, Charles could nevertheless tell that Stryker was disappointed by what he saw. All intentions of talking openly to Stryker about his plans imploded right there, and Charles resorted to his plan B—acting as though he didn’t have plans to make any changes at all.

_ It’s probably for the best,  _ Charles tells himself. He can’t really expect to find allies among Kurt’s hand-picked governors, so not putting them on their guard is perhaps the best thing to do for the time being. Nevertheless the meeting made him feel terribly weak once more—and even more convinced that he’s not suited for what is to come. He’s not the right person for this job, only there’s no way out for him without a fight.

Sometimes, in situations like these, Charles really wishes he still had his telepathy. It used to be painful most of the time, even torturous sometimes, especially back in the days when he had no control over it, but in the years leading up to his accident he got much better at blanking out thoughts he didn’t want to hear. And he found out that he could do more with it than simply listen in on other people’s thoughts. He could freeze people, delete certain memories from their minds, make them see things that weren’t there, or not see things that were right in front of them. He could plant plans or desires into their brains, make them go to sleep, talk to them in their heads (he did that a lot with Raven and Logan back then), and there were more, truly terrifying things that he was sure he could do if he wanted—though he never dared try them.

Even though his telepathy caused him so much trouble and suffering, especially in his childhood and early teens, Charles still remembers the moment that it faded away for the first time as one of the worst moments in his life. The panic, the overwhelming feeling of powerlessness, as well as physical and mental vulnerability, and the insecurity about the fact that he would no longer be able to tell if people were being dishonest with him left a cold imprint on his heart and mind. One that he still feels, and one that he fears will never truly go away.

“Charles…” Raven groans.

Charles turns his head to look at her and finds himself smiling in spite of his miserable thoughts. Raven is wearing her most dramatic I-am-so-terribly-bored expression, her head lolling off the side of the sofa, her eyes fixing him with a suffering stare. At least she’s still here to distract him and make him smile, albeit inadvertently.

“What?” he asks, unable to suppress a small laugh at the way her eyes widen in apparent exasperation.

“It’s so boring, Charles,” she moans. “Nothing happens. Only stars, and darkness, and more stars, and more darkness...why couldn’t I leave the ship with you? I wanted to see Trelos—I’ve never been to a colony.”

“I know,” says Charles softly. 

He gets it, he really does, even though she’s being terribly dramatic about it. That’s just her way of dealing with things, and he loves her for it. 

“It was just a short trip,” he goes on. “I didn’t really get to see the planet either. I was just in this meeting all the time and then we left again.”

“But why couldn’t I come with you?”

Charles sighs. “You know that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Raven won’t let it go. “I could just go on the shuttle with you and then walk around on my own a bit while you do your meeting.”

“I wish that were possible, Raven.” He looks at her almost pleadingly, willing her to understand that it’s not his decision. “But you know what Captain Shaw said. It’s not safe. We don’t have the capacities to send additional bodyguards, and we can’t ask the colony administration to keep you safe in addition to me.”

“Screw Captain Shaw.”

Charles pulls a face. “I’d rather not.”

That makes Raven laugh for the first time. “Ew...get that image out of my brain.”

Charles smiles sadly. “I wish I could,” he mumbles, though too quietly for Raven to hear.

 

Since Charles could never bear seeing Raven unhappy he tries to reason with Shaw again the next day, but finds himself once more feeling like a child arguing with their parent. In the end Shaw simply tells him it can’t be organised, excuses himself, bows and leaves Charles standing in the hallway, feeling like a complete idiot. 

He’s the damned Crown Prince, why does it matter so little what he wants? Shouldn’t his word be law? Nobody would ever dare speak to Kurt like that, for fear of being locked up or possibly even executed. Is Charles that easy to read? Do they just know he wouldn’t do such a thing? Is that why nobody seems to take him seriously?

And it’s true, Charles wouldn’t dream of punishing anyone for the way they talk to him—that cabin boy he met the very first day, for example—Max Eisenhardt. Kurt would have probably had him beheaded for his behaviour. Even though Charles does feel patronised by a lot of people rather often, nobody’s ever spoken to him like that (perhaps Logan, but that’s something entirely different), and yet...he didn’t mind it for some reason. Charles is so used to people adulating him, even though he knows they don’t like him, that he found the fact that this man so clearly hated him and didn’t know how to hide it rather refreshing. 

If Charles hates one thing it’s dishonesty.

Of course Raven is terribly disappointed when he tells her she won’t be coming with him on his future trips to the planets, and runs off to lock herself in her room for several hours, refusing to talk to him. Depressed, Charles retreats to the med bay to see if Hank has time to play chess, which, luckily, he does.

The next few weeks pass in very much the same fashion. The time that Charles is on the ship, he either spends with Raven, plays chess with Hank if ever the doctor has the time, or reads up on the different colonies he’s visiting. He’s never been to most of them after all, and he needs to know everything important. How many people live there, what are their resources on the planet, what do they need and want politically?

It’s a lot of work, but it’s more interesting than he thought. Most useful plants and animals on the the planets were introduced from Earth by the settlers themselves, but a lot of the colonies learnt to make use of their native planetary flora and fauna as well, which resulted in the most fascinating crossbreeds. Animals—cows for instance, that are almost like their earthly counterparts, but show some intriguing distinctions, like thicker skin. It’s a shame that he hasn’t got the time to examine them all himself.

One time, as Charles returns from the humid warmth of Vesna, a planet the climate of which he hasn’t enjoyed very much (to put it mildly), he gets called into the med bay by Hank, who’s wearing an unusually stern expression that doesn’t suit him.

“What is it?” Charles asks, frowning.

“You forgot your med kit when you left the ship, sir.”

“Yeah, I know.” Charles shrugs. “I knew I was only gone for five hours or so, so it didn’t matter, did it?”

“It’s dangerous, your Majesty.”

“Stop calling me that,” Charles groans. “Honestly, we’ve been through this. Can we just...can you be the one person who doesn’t call me that? Can you just call me...Charles. Please?”

Hank looks extremely uncomfortable. “It’s not appropriate.”

_ Fuck being appropriate, _ Charles is about to say, before he stops himself. 

Hank is not Logan, not even close. It’s not fair of Charles to put poor Hank into this situation. It’s not Hank’s fault Charles is so fucking lonely. And if he’s not ready to be a friend, if he can’t see past the title and the office, it’s not right to force him.

“Alright,” Charles sighs. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

There’s a definite blush on Hank’s cheeks, but he nevertheless looks relieved.

“I was saying: It’s extremely important you make sure to keep your med kit with you at all times when you leave the ship, your Majesty. You can never know whether something might go wrong, whether there’s a problem with the shuttle or anything that forces you to stay on the planet for a longer time. It’s vital that you don’t forget it, your Majesty.”

Hank looks at him intently. It’s not just hollow talk, he really means it.

“I won’t,” Charles promises, trying to smile reassuringly. “I promise you I won’t forget again.”

As Hank nods and bows, about to turn around and walk away again, Charles takes hold of the sleeve of his lab coat, forcing him to look back up at him. Not exactly courtly, but what can he do. He’s in desperate need of some intellectual challenge or he’ll go crazy.

“Do you have time to play chess?”

Hank almost smiles. “Yes, I think I could squeeze in a game, sir.”

Chess, at least, is more fun with Hank than with Logan.

 

It looks as though Captain Shaw doesn’t give a damn about the fact that Raven has absolutely nothing to do, can’t leave the ship, and is bored half to death. They eat dinner together every night, but the Captain hardly pays Raven any attention, no matter how badly slumped she sits in her chair. He mostly talks while they eat, the unpleasant smirk in the corner of his mouth always present, as he recounts 1001 heroic deeds done by Sebastian Shaw. Charles nearly always finds himself hardly listening after a while. It doesn’t matter anyway. Shaw doesn’t need anyone’s reassurance to keep talking.

Charles is surprised, therefore, when one day, after almost three weeks in space, right after lunch, Shaw turns up in the lounge and addresses Raven rather than Charles.

“M’lady, since I’m aware that life on this ship has been rather dull for you, I’ve taken it upon myself to organise a surprise for you.”

Raven sits up at once. “A surprise?”

“Yes, M’lady.” Shaw smiles and gestures to a man with long, dark hair standing directly behind him. “I’ve asked Janos here to give you a tour of the whole ship, including the engine room. Would you enjoy that?”

“Oh, yes!” 

Charles has never seen Raven look so excited. He’s quite sure that only two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have cared much for having a look around the ship, but now she’s desperate for any kind of diversion from her dull routine.

Charles has to admit that he finds the idea intriguing himself.

“Would you mind if I joined you? I’d like to see the engine room.” 

Before Raven can answer, Shaw has turned to him, an apologetic expression on his face.

“I’m terribly sorry, your Majesty. I’m afraid I have some rather important subjects to discuss with you. But if you wish we can repeat the tour another time.”

Charles has trouble not letting his disappointment show on his face. So he has to sit here and talk to Shaw while Raven gets to see all the interesting stuff?

“That would be great, thank you,” he says, forcing his face into a smile.

Raven hugs him swiftly, then waves and follows Janos out of the room.

As soon as the door has slid shut behind her, Shaw pulls up a chair and sits down on it, smiling at Charles with the patronising look on his face that Charles hates so much.

“As it turns out we are going to reach Atria sooner than expected, your Majesty. The calculations must have been wrong.”

“Oh?” Charles can’t hide his surprise. The calculations have never before been wrong. “When are we going to get there then?” 

The original plan was for him to enter Atria in the late hours of the evening.

“We should be there in about twenty minutes, sir.”

“Twenty minutes?” Can the calculations really have been  _ that _ wrong?

“Yes,” Shaw says, still smiling. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you before, your Majesty. I was busy corresponding with Atria’s governor, trying to organise an earlier visit.”

“And did it work?”

“Luckily, yes. The governor is ready to receive you. He’s even organised his whole security team to protect you which means we needn’t organise anything ourselves, which saves us time.”

“Wh—Are you saying I’m going to Atria without bodyguards?” Charles bursts out in spite of himself. Something about this is weird. Very weird.

“Nothing to worry about, your Majesty. The trip from the ship down to the planet isn’t very long, and as soon as you’ve landed you’ll be under the protection of the governor’s security team. They’re highly trained and very experienced. You’ll be in perfectly safe hands, your Majesty.”

“But...why?”

Shaw sighs. “Well, since you’re making me say it, your Majesty.” He smiles again. “The truth is, we’ve organised a small surprise for you and Miss Marko as soon as we reach Hadrian, which, as you know, is the next planet on the route, and the most beautiful planet you’ll ever see. If we manage to make the visit to Atria quick, that’ll mean we have several additional hours on Hadrian, allowing you and Miss Marko to have a proper look around and explore the place.”

Charles is stunned. He would never have expected this much thoughtfulness from Shaw. He’s never liked the man, thought him selfish and narcissistic, and frankly unpleasant to be around, so this comes as a real surprise.

“Thank you,” Charles says earnestly. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

Shaw’s smile grows wider. “I’m very glad you like it, your Majesty. Now I think you understand why we need to make this visit as quick as possible.”

“Yes, of course,” Charles nods. 

It still feels surreal, but he can’t wait to see Raven’s face when she hears that she’ll finally be allowed to leave the ship again.

Shaw gets up. “You should get changed then, sir. I’ll call Azazel to take you to your shuttle in five minutes.”

“Yes, thank you,” Charles replies.

Shaw bows low, smiles again and steps away.

Charles waits until he’s gone, then makes his way to his own bedroom, where he changes into a suit, brushes his hair and makes for the door again, before he remembers something. He turns and walks back to his wardrobe, pulling out his med kit, then walks back to the lounge. It’s kind of ridiculous to take the kit for such a short visit, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with Hank’s disapproval again.

When Charles returns, Azazel is already there waiting for him, taciturn as always, offering him his arm. Charles takes it, closing his eyes, and bracing himself for the familiar pull in his chest.

As he opens them again, he’s standing in the corridor leading to the shuttle garage, just as he requested the very first time Azazel took him there. Charles prefers to walk the last few steps himself, as it gives him a chance to take a look out of the window to get a first glance of the planet he’s about to visit.

Atria is rather small, with rough winters, which is why a lot of its surface is covered in snow, but also with large forests and lush meadows. The planet visible outside the window looks almost exactly like the illustrations from the database, maybe a little whiter, but that must vary as it does on Earth. It doesn’t look as spectacular as Trelos, or Hadrian, which is supposed to be beautifully coloured, even from space.

It looks cold, even from here, but it doesn’t matter really. It’ll be a very short visit anyway. And then they’ll get to spend more time on Hadrian. Charles can’t wait for that.

He smiles at Azazel, who unsurprisingly doesn’t smile back, and nods to signal that he’s ready to go. 

They walk down the short corridor side by side until they reach the gates leading to the shuttle garage. Azazel opens it with a scan of his fingerprint, and Charles steps inside, spotting the shuttle in front of the exit hatch at once, ready to take off into space.

A man in a pilot’s uniform turns at the sound of their entering and walks up to them from the other side of the room where he was evidently staring outside through a window.

He bows low. “Your Majesty.”

It doesn’t take the familiarity of his voice for Charles to recognise him. He’d know this chiselled chin and those entrancing grey-blue eyes anywhere, even though he’s only seen them once before, almost three weeks ago.

“Max Eisenhardt?”

The man flinches almost imperceptibly. Perhaps because he’s just been caught lying. Cabin boy indeed. Charles can only just stop himself from snorting loudly. Azazel’s presence stops him from saying any more though. He felt like a complete idiot being caught sneaking off by Matthew that day, and he doesn’t need Azazel to know about that incident too.

“Ready to go, your Majesty?” asks Azazel in his Russian accent.

“Yes, I am,” replies Charles, only now realising that he’s about to spend at least half an hour in the company of a man who apparently hates him, with nobody else around. But there’s no changing that now. He can’t request another pilot. He wants this to be quick, so he can spend more time on Hadrian with Raven.

Max Eisenhardt bows again, then walks the few steps to the shuttle and climbs into the pilot’s seat, leaving Charles to climb in himself. Charles frowns but doesn’t say anything. It’s quite bold, bordering on stupid of a pilot to treat him like that. Pilots are supposed to help Charles get in first, and there’s no way Max doesn’t know that, since every royal pilot is taught it time and time again. It’s protocol. It’s as though Max is doing it on purpose to demonstrate how much he dislikes and disrespects Charles, and with Azazel close by on top of that. Isn’t he afraid of bad consequences?

More intrigued than affronted by the man’s behaviour, Charles acts as though nothing has happened, and climbs into the shuttle himself, though with some effort, as he’s never done it without help before. He buckles up, holding on tightly to the med kit in his lap, and nods at Max to signal that he’s ready to go, the usual nervousness creeping up on him in spite of himself.

He doesn’t like shuttles.

The engine growls awake and the shuttle begins to vibrate. As always Charles feels another rush of nervousness as the hatch before them opens and they get a clear view of the endless darkness and the white and green planet ahead. There’s another loud growl, followed by the familiar (and uncomfortable) sensation of enormous acceleration, which Charles likes to describe as the feeling of his body moving forward at cyberspeed while his insides stay behind.

Luckily the sensation only lasts for a moment though, until they’ve reached top speed and dart through the darkness in the direction of Atria. Even though Charles has been on many shuttles by now, it’s still astonishing to him just how fast it goes. They’ve travelled for barely two minutes when they already reach the outer layers of the planet’s atmosphere. There’s the usual red glow of heat and they keep going, plunging deeper and deeper, still unable to make out anything beneath them, but definitely no longer in open space. 

Charles has been through this several times in the last few weeks, and if he’s learned one thing it’s that every atmosphere is different, which also makes the experience of landing very different each time. However, he’s never before heard a shuttle rattle as loudly before, or shake as badly. 

It doesn’t sound right, but how couldn’t it be? The royal shuttles are impeccable and virtually indestructible, everyone knows that. Unless the pilot doesn’t know what he’s doing, but all their shuttle pilots are highly trained, so nothing could possibly go wrong.

Nevertheless, Charles can’t help growing nervous as the rattling and shaking doesn’t die down, but grows louder instead.

_ It’s alright, _ he tells himself.  _ This isn’t going to happen again. It can’t. Shuttles are safe. They’re safe. Don’t worry. _

The sound tells a different story, however.

“Max?” he asks, trying to sound calmer than he is. “Everything alright?”

When there’s no answer, Charles turns to glance at the pilot, gripping the med kit in his hands very tightly, hoping to see a reassuringly relaxed albeit concentrated look on the pilot’s face, but what he does see makes his heart plummet like a heavy stone.

Max’s eyes are wide open in apparent terror. He has taken both his hands of the control stick, his arms instead stretched out to both sides, his fingers apparently grasping something invisible in thin air. It looks as though he’s fighting against some kind of invisible force—or is he having a seizure?  _ Somebody’s _ got to take hold of the control stick.

“Max?” Charles hears himself ask again in a shaking voice, though the rattling has grown so loud that he doubts it’ll travel all the way to the pilot’s ears. If he’s still in any state to hear anything anyway that is.

Veins are starting to show on Max’s neck, on his hands, still outstretched, still incredibly tense as though holding on to something that’s trying to slip away, the skin on the back of his hands turning white. 

The rattling grows even louder, the shaking so extreme Charles has trouble making out anything anymore.

_ What is this? This can’t be happening again. Shuttles are safe. They’re safe, they— _

_ “What’s going on?”  _ Charles yells in a wave of panic. _ “Max? What’s happening?” _

It doesn’t look as though the pilot can even hear him, though the shaking has become so bad that Charles can’t really see anything anymore anyway. His mind’s a whirl of panic, his heart racing, his body shaking in time with the shuttle itself, his senses useless. Only one thought clear in his brain:

_ We’re going to die. This is it. We’re dying. _

Because what could Charles do to prevent it? He can’t run, he can’t hide. He’s done for. It’s the simple truth. This time he’ll die.

Since there’s nothing else to hold on to as everything rattles and shakes violently around him, Charles grabs the med kit even more tightly, closing his eyes, trying to breath slowly and calmly. He waits for the bang, the collusion, the end of everything, while tears stream down his face and unconnected thoughts and memories keep rushing past his consciousness. 

Raven chasing him through the palace when they were kids, both of them laughing madly; Charles on his father’s shoulder, looking out over the land from the palace’s balcony; Kurt yelling at him not to be a pussy; Logan’s strong arms closing around him; Raven, bored at the dinner table; millions of emotions, thoughts, prayers and wishes washing over him as he lays in bed as a boy, trying to sleep; Charles in  a shuttle, having just taken off, as the engine suddenly blasts—

Charles’ eyes pop open as cold air hits his face, taking his breath away. He gasps for air, just as he realises that the shuttle around him has disappeared, metal boards, equipment and other parts ripped apart and falling, just as he is, still buckled up in his seat.

_ I’m dying, _ he thinks again. _ This is how I die. _

And then he feels something, arms grabbing hold of him as he falls, fumbling with his seatbelt until it opens and the useless seat slips away. A strong arm, wrapping around his midriff, pressing him close to a warm body. 

Almost automatically, not ready to die alone if he can help it, Charles grabs hold of the warm body falling beside him, burying his face in rough fabric.

_ Hold me, _ he thinks.  _ Just hold me while I die. _

The pressure on his ears, on his brain, is unbearable. His head is going to split open, it’s worse than the worst telepathic headache. He’s crying, but it doesn’t matter since there’s nobody to witness it as he’s still falling— _ they’re  _ still falling, only...is he imagining it or are they slowing down?

With all the strength that he can muster, Charles turns his head away from the rough fabric and opens his eyes. There are trees somewhere below them, coming closer and closer, and snow, so much snow. 

The image becomes blurry before Charles’ eyes. He feels his grip slacken, as his senses slowly fade, but the arm doesn’t let go of him.

_ Am I dying? _ Charles thinks.

He hits the ground in a dull and painful thud, and the arm slips away from his midriff, but it doesn’t rip him into a thousand pieces as expected. White coldness engulfs him, the brightness of it burning his eyes.

_ I’m not dead, _ Charles thinks.  _ Am I? _


	5. 1.5 Erik

Erik is breathing hard, trying to not let his consciousness slip away from him.

_ It’s alright. It’s over. I made it. I’m not dead. _

He keeps repeating those words over and over in his head like a mantra, trying to get them to mean something, but his mind is still whirling, still unable to grasp the situation. 

At least Erik’s senses are coming back to him now, especially the freezing numbness in his face, the pain in his chest and shoulders. Erik opens his eyes to see nothing but all-consuming whiteness at first. It hurts his eyes, and he closes them again. He must be lying on the ground, his cheek is pressed into something cold and wet. He opens his eyes again. The whiteness is still painful, blinding him, but his eyes slowly adapt to it. The first thing he sees among all the cold and white —snow, it’s  _ snow _ —is an arm, a sleeve of a dark blue pilot’s uniform, traces of blood smeared across it. It’s shaking violently. 

As soon as he sees it, Erik feels it too, the stinging pain in it, the tremor. It’s his arm in the snow, and it didn’t get ripped off, it’s still there. He attempts to move it, then his other arm, then his legs. All work, though tremulously, weakly. Erik releases a shaking breath. At least he’s still in one piece.

A quiet moan nearby makes Erik freeze in terror for a second. He’s not alone, there’s someone else. But Erik’s not in any state to defend himself. If he’s attacked—

Another moan, weak and desperate, and now Erik can make out a word too, a name.

“Max…”

Erik’s brain takes a moment to catch up with his senses.  _ He’s _ Max. Max Eisenhardt. It’s his, Erik’s, pseudonym. 

“Max…?”

Erik’s heart skips a beat as more things fall back into place in his mind. 

The Prince. Where is he? He was on the shuttle too, Erik grabbed hold of him as it broke apart. It must be him who’s calling. He must be close by.

Erik pulls his shaking arms up to his face and attempts to push himself up on his hands. His arms buckle as soon as he’s lifted his head up only about an inch, and his face hits the cold and wet ground again. His arms have never hurt like that before, his muscles have never felt that weak, or shaken that badly. With way too much effort, a low groan escaping his throat, Erik manages to lift his heavy body up on his elbows, which gives him a chance to look around. 

There are pieces of metal strewn across all over the snow around him, none of them larger than a frying pan. The shuttle must truly have been ripped apart by the forces. It’s a wonder Erik made it out alive, and—

Erik cranes his neck as he spots something larger lying in the snow only about eight feet away from him. A man. The prince.

“Sir!” Erik calls, or he tries, but his voice is too weak.

Taking a deep breath, Erik makes another attempt to push himself up on his hands. Even though they still shake badly, he manages this time, and sits up, staring over at the unmoving figure in the snow. But he can’t be dead. Erik heard his voice, only a moment ago...

“Charles?” 

Only after he’s spoken Erik realises what he said. He can’t address the Prince by his first name. It’s highly inappropriate, and he hasn’t—not even in his mind—done it in ages. Not since he was a small boy and still thought of the Prince as a friend. It might not matter now, considering the circumstances, but still…

Erik grimaces, half because of the pain, half because of his annoyance with himself.

“Sir?”

This time his voice is stronger, and it’s answered by another groan. The man in the snow stirs and lifts his head.

“Max…?”

The Prince slowly props himself up on his hands, then pushes himself back, until he’s kneeling in the snow. Erik can tell that he’s shaking just as badly as he is himself. The Prince’s expensive suit is ripped in places. There’s a cut on his thigh, which seems to be bleeding slightly, and a small cut on his cheek, both probably caused by parts of the shuttle flying around. He’s paler than usual too, and his eyes are red. He looks just as bad as Erik feels.

“Max?” he asks again, in a shaking voice. “Are you alright?”

Erik nods, even though he’s not sure he’s alright. He’s alive though, for the moment at least. And he can feel his strength slowly returning to him now that he’s sitting up.

“We should get away from here,” Erik hears himself say. He’s not sure where it came from, but he knows it’s true. He was just too stupid to see it before.

“What do you mean?” the Prince asks weakly. 

“We should hide in the forest. This clearing isn’t safe. They could spot us.”

The Prince stares at him, red-eyed and pale, his body shaking from cold or exertion or both—Erik doesn’t know. 

Will they be able to move at all? Will their legs carry them?

“What do you mean?” the Prince repeats. There’s pleading in his voice. “Who could spot us?”

“Shaw. And his people.”

The Prince stares at him as though he thinks Erik’s gone crazy, but Erik’s sure he’s right. He knows what he saw and felt. It all makes sense now.

Shaw must have guessed Erik’s true identity after all, or he wouldn’t have chosen him for this trip. The fucking bastard.

“No, I want them to see me,” the Prince splutters. “They’ve got to come and save me. They have to know I’m still alive, they—”

“Believe me, you don’t want that,” Erik interrupts him. 

Interrupting a royal is a highly punishable offense, but what does it matter now? Everything’s fucked anyway.

_ Fuck.  _

But he can’t think like that now, he’ll have to stay alive for now, think one step at a time. He has to get away from this clearing.

The expression on the Prince’s face looks painful. “What makes you say—”

“They manipulated the shuttle to make it fall apart,” Erik almost yells at him. “The screws were loose, it got ripped apart as soon as the pressure was too much. That wasn’t an accident.”

He glances up at the bright sky. The ship isn’t visible from here, and neither are any shuttles looking for them, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. 

The Prince doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Erik with wide, shocked eyes.

Erik shakes his head impatiently. “We don’t have time for this. We need to get going.”

Erik musters all his physical strength to push himself up on his shaky legs, and to his surprise they don’t give way. He stands there, trembling, for a moment, then looks around for things that could be of use. There’s a board of metal, and another one, and a few smaller pieces. Some kind of metal box. He pulls them all closer with his powers and immediately his arms start to shake more violently again. He’s strained his powers earlier, that’s why his arms will hardly obey him. He needs to rest, recharge, but most of all he needs to get out of this clearing, and take anything useful with him.

The Prince is staring at him open-mouthed, either impressed by or terrified of Erik’s display of his powers. Erik has neither the strength nor the time to worry about that, however. He’ll do what it takes to survive, and if that offends the Prince it’s his fucking problem. He should be grateful. He’d be dead now if it weren’t for Erik’s mutation.

“Are you coming or what?” Erik asks. He won’t wait for the Prince. If he wants to stay and wait for Shaw’s men to come and finish him off, that’s not Erik’s problem. Erik definitely won’t risk his life for him. Not again.

When the Prince doesn’t react but just keeps staring up at him from where he’s sat in the snow, Erik shrugs and turns away, pulling the metal pieces after himself with his powers, his arms still trembling. He’ll just have to do this on his own then. He’s a survivor, he can do it, perhaps he’ll even be better off without a pampered pretty boy who’s never cared for himself in his life.

“Max, wait!”

Just as Erik reaches the edge of the forest the Prince catches up with him, panting, clutching a leather bag to his chest, and walking fast and on almost-steady legs. Erik throws him a quick glance, and notices the pink patches on the Prince’s cheeks, the fear, despair and hurt in his eyes, but also the grim determination. 

It looks as though he’s made his decision to trust Erik rather than Shaw.

This surprises Erik, but he’ll take it. He doesn’t have the energy to wrack his brains about it at the moment.

Together then.

They walk in silence for about ten minutes, until they can’t see the clearing anymore, and can be sure that the thickness of the branches above them hides them well from sight. Wheezing slightly from the exertion of the last hour, Erik stops and pulls up the metal box to examine it closer.

It’s dented at the edges and the paint has crumbled away almost completely, but it’s still in one piece, which, in itself, is quite a miracle.

With one flick of Erik’s hand the lock cracks open and the lid flies up. He pulls the items out, examining them one by one.

A thin woolen blanket, a few boxes of matches, a box of firelighters, a small bottle of disinfectant, a few bandages, a pair of scissors, a pocket knife, a metal cup, some shrink-wrapped bread and dried fruit, a bag of nuts, and about ten tins of different types of food.

A survival kit, one of those that are always stored safely under the seats in every shuttle. Thank god it landed where they did. And thank god even more that Shaw didn’t have it removed before they left. He probably didn’t want to risk Erik noticing something was missing and was sure the fall itself would kill them.

It should have, really.

The Prince releases a long and shaking breath.

“Thank fuck,” he murmurs.

Erik almost laughs at the absurdity of the Crown Prince of the Empire using language like that—it’s definitely not what he expected—but he catches himself just in time. They’re not friends, and it’s not helpful if the Prince starts believing that they are. They’re just forced to work together because of their fucked-up circumstances, and because Erik was too much of a good person to just let the Prince fall to his death. He’s not yet sure whether he regrets it. The food won’t last as long with the Prince around. On the other hand, the fact that Shaw obviously tried to kill him might just make the Prince worth saving.

“Where do we go now?” asks the Prince quietly. He’s obviously hoping for Erik to have some kind of solution to their problem. It was Erik who got them moving after all.

Erik shrugs. “We’ve got to find people somewhere. This is a colony, right? And you’re the Crown Prince. They’ll have to help you.” It might be a good thing he saved the Prince after all.

The Prince’s eyes widen again, as though he’s only just realised something. And nothing good.

“What is it?” Erik asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.

The Prince sinks down onto a dead tree, burying his face in his hands. “This isn’t Atria,” he murmurs.

“What do you mean?” Erik can’t help the light note of panic ringing in his voice. Please  _ no. _

“I don’t know what planet this is, but it’s not Atria,” the Prince repeats, his face still hidden in his hands. “He said—Shaw said the calculations were wrong, but— _ Fuck, _ I’m such an idiot!”

None of what he says makes any sense to Erik.

“What are you talking about?” Annoyance mixes in with his fear and anger. Why can’t the Prince just fucking explain himself properly? Does he  _ have to _ speak in fucking riddles?

The Prince’s looks back up. There’s shame in his face, and anger, and his cheeks are red again. “We weren’t supposed to reach Atria until several hours later. He said there was a mistake, and that we’d be there sooner, and I thought it was weird, but I didn’t— _ Fuck!” _

Erik’s still not sure he gets it, but nevertheless one thing seems definite.

“So this isn’t a colony? No human inhabitants?”

The Prince shakes his head slowly. “No, and I don’t know. There might be people here somewhere. It seems habitable after all. Perhaps some independent settlers, or rebels.” He shivers. “They wouldn’t be glad to see me though.”

Erik doesn’t say anything for a moment. His brain has trouble grasping the whole extent of their fucked-up situation. Yes, they survived, but by the looks of it they won’t stand a chance of ever leaving this planet again—not without a ship or at least a shuttle—which probably means that they’ll die as soon as they run out of food—or freeze to death.

_ “Fuck!” _ Erik yells, and the Prince flinches slightly.

Erik can’t die now, he’s got a job to do. He’s got to kill Shaw, make him pay for his crimes, or nobody will. He can’t die here, he’s got to get back and do what he has to do. Why did this have to happen? Couldn’t he stay focused for a fucking second?

“Your mutation,” the Prince interrupts his thoughts in a quiet, shivery voice. “It’s got to do with metal, right? Couldn’t you rebuild the shuttle?”

“I’m not a fucking engineer,” Erik hisses at him. 

He’s surprised to see the Prince talk about his mutation in such a casual tone, when the royal policy of the last years has been to demonize mutants entirely, but nevertheless he can’t help feeling annoyed and frustrated by his suggestion.

“And it’s been ripped to pieces, probably strewn across several miles. Plus, it never worked properly in the first place, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

The Prince nods thoughtfully. He gets to his feet. “Alright then,” he says, his teeth chattering slightly. “I suppose we’ll have to try and find someone who can help us—if there is anyone. Or something. Anything to build a shuttle, or a radio set. Something. We can’t stay here, or we’ll freeze to death.”

It’s only then that Erik looks at the Prince long and attentively enough to realise his plush red lips are no longer red but blue, and that he’s crossed his shaking arms across his chest in an apparent effort to keep his body warm. Erik’s feeling cold too, freezing in fact, though he must have somehow blanked out most of it until now. The Prince, however, is positively shaking. He’s only wearing a suit after all, and dress shoes, which can’t be warm. The suit’s fabric must be a lot thinner than the rough and thick material of the pilot’s uniform that Erik’s wearing, and at least Erik’s heavy boots protect his feet from most of the cold.

Without thinking about it Erik pulls the woolen blanket out of the box and hands it to the Prince. “Here, before you get ill,” he says gruffly.

Surprised, but clearly pleased, the Prince takes it, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Where shall we go now?” he asks, his teeth still chattering, but already looking a little warmer.

Why does Erik even care?

Erik looks around. If he’s not mistaken it’s gotten slightly darker in the last few minutes. It’s just after 5pm on his watch, but that’s Earth time, and really of no consequence around here. Depending on how long sunsets on this unknown planet take, and how dark it gets they might be completely lost relatively soon. And if they don’t find a refuge until then, somewhere they can warm up, they won’t survive for long.

Plus, Erik’s still fucking exhausted from the day’s events so far—even though he’s been successful at hiding it so far—and, as far as he can tell, the Prince is too. They both need to rest.

“We need to find somewhere dry,” Erik says. “Somewhere we can start a fire.”

The Prince nods, looking tired, but determined. “There are rocks over there,” he says, pointing somewhere to the left of Erik. “Maybe we can find a cave.”

Erik’s so tired he hardly registers his own surprise at the Prince coming up with something like that. And spotting the rocks, which Erik totally missed. Erik closes the survival box with another flick of his hand, and they trudge in the direction the Prince has indicated, Erik pulling the box and all the other metal pieces after himself with his powers. 

Sure enough, within only a few yards they come across more and larger rocks scattered across the forest ground, until they step past a few large trees and stand facing a rock wall reaching up so high they can’t make out the top of it.

“Let’s find a cave,” the Prince mumbles, and they set off along the rock, their eyes traveling over the stone to make out an opening somewhere that they could climb into.

They find a crevasse rather soon, after only a few minutes, one that they could both squeeze into, but in which they wouldn’t be able to lie down, especially if they started a fire. They walk on, hoping to find something better until the Prince stumbles over a small rock he didn’t see in the semi-darkness, tumbling to the ground and hitting his head against the hard rock.

Cursing under his breath, the Prince pushes himself back up, wiping some blood off of his forehead with the back of his hand.

It’s the first time Erik thinks of wild animals they should beware of. Or some unknown form of intelligent life.

“We should turn back,” the Prince says. “Or we won’t find the crevasse again.”

Erik’s too exhausted to argue, and, even though the idea of sleeping squeezed tightly into a crevasse next to the Prince is unpleasant, staying unsheltered in the snow would definitely be worse.

They walk back in silence, taking longer than on their first journey along the rock, because the Prince keeps stopping to collect twigs, branches, and even a few larger logs from dry spaces under rock spurs, loading them onto the metal board Erik keeps pulling after them, then walking on, still keeping his eyes open.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to have the Prince with him after all.

It’s almost completely dark as they finally find the opening again. They both have trouble pulling themselves inside, as their arms are so weak, collapsing against the mercifully dry but still freezing cold wall once they’ve managed.

“We need a fire,” the Prince mumbles, his eyes half-closed. He’s still shivering slightly, despite the blanket.

Erik throws him a glance, and, as the Prince doesn’t move, leans forward again to pull the survival box and the board carrying all the wood into the crevasse with them. Before he can start feeling too annoyed about the Prince ordering him around, however, he feels movement next to him, and turns to see him arranging the collected twigs in a heap.

With the help of a few matches and a firelighter they manage to start a fire pretty quickly. The Prince proves not completely useless too, as he starts feeding the taller branches into it, keeping it alive, and finally pushes a larger log on top.

“That should keep us warm for a while,” he says, sounding exhausted, but nevertheless pleased with himself.

It’s a little ridiculous that he would find joy in anything given their fucked-up situation.

They sit there, staring at the crackling fire in front of them for a moment, before the Prince speaks again. 

“We should take off our shoes and socks to dry them, perhaps also our other clothes. Mine are a little wet at least.”

Erik, still too tired to argue, pulls off his boots and socks as well as his jacket, while the Prince removes all of his clothes except his briefs. It takes a while since they have hardly any room to manoeuvre, and they have to hang their clothes over their knees to keep them close to the flames.

The Prince glances at Erik and gestures to his trousers. “You sure you don’t want to dry those? They look a bit wet.”

They are, which is highly uncomfortable, but taking them off isn’t an option.

“Too cold,” says Erik. “We have only one blanket and I’m not sure the fire will keep me warm enough.”

There’s a pause. 

“We could share the blanket,” the Prince suggests quietly. 

Erik doesn’t reply, but stares straight ahead, at the fire. He doesn’t like this. Not even a bit. They’re not friends, and they’re definitely not people who cuddle.

The Prince sighs. “Look, it’s just practical. If we’re both under the blanket we can keep each other warm. And you need to dry your trousers.”

When Erik still doesn’t say anything the Prince gives him a light nudge.

“Don’t be an idiot, Max,” he says. “You don’t want to get ill, do you?”

“My name is Erik,” says Erik in spite of himself. Right after he’s said it he feels a rush of anger at his own stupidity for a second, but then...what does it matter if the Prince knows his real name? It won’t be of any consequence here, and even if they managed to get back...it looks as though Shaw somehow found out about Erik’s true identity anyway.

“Oh, so that was a lie too?” the Prince asks with a small sigh. Before Erik can contemplate what he’s talking about, he goes on. “You can call me Charles if you want.”

Finally, Erik turns to look at him sitting there, wrapped in the blanket, his face pale, a small cut on his cheek and a fresher one on his forehead. He looks fucking exhausted, just like Erik feels. There’s no difference between them here, perhaps the Prince is trying to emphasise that by allowing Erik to call him by his first name. On the other hand, it removes a barrier between them that Erik tried to keep up for a reason.

They’re not friends, and they’ll never be. This is purely practical.

But Erik won’t be the Prince’s servant either. Not here. So maybe it’s a good idea after all?

“Alright,” Erik says. He might regret this in the morning, but right now he’s too tired to care.

The Prince holds open the blanket to allow Erik to slip under it, which Erik does with some reluctance, pulling his trousers off, and draping them on top off his knees to dry. 

The Prince’s body is already radiating warmth it has taken on from the blanket and the fire, and his shoulder, through the fabric of Erik’s shirt, is not unpleasant to the touch. It’ll be fine. It’s actually nice to feel somebody else’s warmth again, whoever it may be.

Erik allows his head to fall back against the rock wall behind him, closing his eyes. His sitting position isn’t comfortable, but he feels he might be able to sleep anywhere, in any position in his exhausted state.

“Erik, are you injured?” he hears the Prince—no, Charles—ask quietly, as though through a haze.

Erik forces his eyes back open. “No, I don’t think so,” he mumbles. “I kept the metal away from my body. I’m sorry, I couldn’t prevent you getting hurt.”

What is he saying? Is that the exhaustion speaking? It doesn’t sound like him. He didn’t even  _ try _ to keep the Prince safe, apart from holding on to him, which was more than he’d have thought he’d do anyway.

“That’s okay,” Charles says softly. “Go to sleep then.”

Erik’s eyes slide back shut almost immediately. He smells disinfectant—Charles was injured, wasn’t he?—perhaps Erik should offer to help him clean his wounds. But then, why should he? He’s not Charles’ servant here after all. They’ve just established that.

Erik feels Charles shift next to him, fumbling with something, his elbow hitting Erik in the side.

Erik’s eyes slide slowly open again.

“Shit, sorry,” Charles mumbles.

He’s half-turned his back on Erik, fumbling with something on his left arm. Erik leans slightly forward, spying over his shoulder, to see what he’s doing.

The leather bag Charles carried around all day lies between his legs. Charles has wrapped a leather strap tightly around his left arm, his right hand holding a small syringe with some kind of green liquid. Without hesitation he pushes the needle into the skin on the inside of his forearm.

Erik leans quickly back, his eyes completely open now.

What the fuck? So Charles, the Crown Prince of the Empire, is a fucking junkie on top of everything? That’s the last thing Erik needed, to be forced to take care of a drug addict, while trying to survive in the wilderness. True, Charles functioned well today, but what if he runs out—and he’s bound to, at some point. What if he goes cold turkey? That could kill them both. They need sharp minds to survive this. Both of them.

Erik stares into the fire, trying very hard not to look at Charles as he surreptitiously stores away everything in his bag again. 

He can’t take care of Charles if he becomes a hindrance. Erik’s got a job to do. He _ must _ survive this and get back to Earth somehow—and what happens to the Prince doesn’t matter in the end. If Charles becomes a danger to Erik’s survival, and subsequently to him getting back to Shaw, Erik will have to leave him, or even get rid of him. There’s no other way.

After about a minute, Charles sinks back against the wall with a soft sigh, their shoulders touching once more through the thin fabric of Erik’s shirt, though this time Erik draws back slightly. He’s allowed Charles to get too close to him already. The idea of leaving him to die already fills him with guilt and dread, and he can’t allow that to happen, because the only thing that matters is Shaw getting what he deserves. For that Erik needs to stay alive—and if that means abandoning the Prince and leaving him to die, he’ll have to find the strength to do it. It’s all that matters. Keeping himself alive has to be Erik’s top priority, at least until he’s done what he has to do. What happens to him afterwards doesn’t matter.

“Good night, Erik,” Charles mumbles.

Erik turns his head to look at him again. The Prince’s eyes are closed, and the cuts on his face look cleaner now. He looks peaceful like that, much more peaceful than Erik remembers feeling in a long time. He looks as though he never knew worry in his life.

And yet Charles came running after Erik, instead of waiting for someone from the ship to pick him up. He believed Erik almost at once, when Erik told him the man who’d been taking care of him had tried to kill him. That’s not the action of a man who’s never known fear or worry in his life.

“Why did you believe me?” Erik asks quietly.

“Hmm?” Charles sounds almost asleep.

“When I told you that Shaw manipulated the shuttle to try and kill us. Why did you believe me?”

There’s a moment’s pause. Erik is almost certain Charles must have fallen asleep after all, when he speaks again.

“I knew you were right. I was just too blind to see it.”

He turns slightly, his head coming to rest against the spot of rock right above Erik’s shoulder.

Erik doesn’t keep asking, even though he still doesn’t quite understand what Charles means. The warmth, the crackling of the fire, the fucking exhaustion—all of them combined make Erik’s eyes slide shut again soon, make his mind slowly drift away, his muscles relax, to seek the rest they so desperately need.


	6. 1.6 Charles

As Charles wakes again, it takes him a moment to realise where he is and what has happened. 

The last vestiges of the dream he just had are still present in his mind, and he tries to hold on to them just as they dissolve into nothingness, his eyes still tightly shut.

He was in the palace. Logan was there, and Raven, but he can’t remember what they did or talked about. It was a good dream though. He felt safe.

Charles shifts slightly as his consciousness returns to him completely, informing him of the coldness on his face, except for his cheek which is pressed into something warm…

Charles’ eyes slide slowly open. The light seeping into the crevasse doesn’t manage to illuminate the space completely, so it’s still rather dim. The fire has gone out, but as Charles tentatively sticks out a toe from under the blanket to feel the ground, he can tell that it can’t have happened too long ago, as the rock is not yet freezing cold.

It confuses him for a moment, because he can’t imagine that he’s only slept for an hour or so, and the log wouldn’t have burned that long. Plus, it’s light outside, so night must be over, and since it looks as though it’s winter where they are it’s more likely the nights last longer than the days than the other way around. Maybe the diurnal cycles only last about two Earth hours here? 

But then Charles notices that all the wood he’s collected the night before has gone, and he carefully turns to glance at Erik sitting unmoving next to him, the fabric of his shirt crumpled where Charles’ head lay only a minute earlier. He’s still fast asleep, strangely frowning with his eyes closed, but unless somebody else was there to keep the fire burning, it must have been him who tended to it to prevent it going out, while Charles slept. 

Charles feels a strange wave of fondness for the man, even though he knows that, if he were awake, Erik definitely wouldn’t appreciate it. Erik never hid his dislike of Charles after all —whatever his reasons. But nevertheless he saved his life, probably twice.

Charles glances at his watch. It’s 1:35am Earth time, which, of course, doesn’t mean anything here, but at least it tells him the time on the ship. The time where Raven is.

She must have noticed his absence by now. Is she asleep? Or is she lying awake, worried about him? Have they hurt her? Charles desperately hopes not, but if they’d wanted to kill her they’d have sent her with him, wouldn’t they? It would have been so easy to kill them both. Raven was desperate to get off the ship after all...Instead Shaw sent her away so he could talk to Charles without her listening in—without anyone listening in. Why didn’t Charles see it before? Whenever he went on a trip dozens of people were involved, but this time there was only Shaw, and Azazel—and Erik.

Mysterious Erik. Who told him his name was Max, and who also told him he was a cabin boy the first time they met. He’s clearly a liar, perhaps a compulsive one, so why did Charles choose to believe him over the people he’s known for a long time? In a way it seems crazy now that he chose to run off into uncertainty with some stranger who Charles already knew to be dishonest.

But why should Erik lie to him about this? If he’d wanted to kill Charles he could have just let him fall to his death. Instead, he kept him safe—however he did it. It’s clear that Erik’s fascinating mutation has something to do with metal and Charles saw him trying to keep the shuttle together as it rattled, threatening to fall apart, but how did he manage to slow them down as they fell? Why weren’t they both crushed at the impact?

Charles sighs almost inaudibly. Why is he even asking himself all this? He knows why he believed Erik at once. It just all made way too much sense to not be true, and a thousand questions had answered themselves in Charles’ mind as Erik told him. Only those answers have made the realisation even more painful.

Logan being kept on Earth for one. Because Logan wouldn’t have left his side, would he? And Logan can’t die, so allowing him to accompany Charles would have been a real risk. But that means it wasn’t just Shaw’s decision to kill him; Kurt must have been involved too. It shouldn’t be as much of a surprise, it really shouldn’t, and it shouldn’t hurt as much either. Charles and Kurt have never seen eye to eye after all, and Kurt is definitely the one who has most to gain if Charles dies. But nevertheless Kurt was Charles’ guardian, his father’s best friend. The idea that he’d arrange for Charles to be killed…

Charles swallows, trying to keep down the tears welling up inside of him. 

He shouldn’t have been so naive, or trusting. If he’d just seen Kurt for who he was, he might have seen this coming. The signs were all there after all. He’s never treated Charles like a son, like he was supposed to. He always belittled him, made him feel weak and worthless, and never made a secret of his disbelieve that Charles could ever be a good sovereign.

Charles really should have seen it.

Erik stirs slightly beside him and Charles glances at him once more. The man’s eyes are still closed, but his face is screwed up as though he’s in pain. He shifts, his arms twitching slightly, and Charles is about to grab hold of him to shake him awake, when Erik’s eyes snap open all of a sudden and he stills, though his breathing is heavier than only a moment earlier. He looks around, apparently disoriented for a moment, until his eyes fall on Charles next to him. He blinks.

“Oh shit,” Erik moans.

Even in a terrible, messed-up situation like this Charles can’t help being hurt by Erik’s reaction to seeing him. However, he tries to hide it. There’s no point acting like a whiny child, when Erik already hates him. And there’s no reason to be unfriendly either.

“Are you okay?” Charles asks quietly.

Erik doesn’t reply, his jaw set. “Where are my clothes?” he asks instead.

Charles grabs them and hands them over to Erik, who puts them on quickly without sparing Charles another look. Charles, however, watches him, watches the muscles on his thighs flexing as Erik struggles to pull on his trousers, before Charles suddenly realises what he’s doing and turns to stare at the remains of the fire instead, his ears growing hot.

Once Erik is dressed, he climbs out of the hole without one backwards glance. “We should get going.”

Charles nods, though he knows Erik won’t see it. “Just a second.”

He’s reluctant to remove the warm blanket from his body, and pull on his cold and ripped suit again, though he knows it’s idiotic to want to stay here. They need to start exploring their environment, find out if there are traces of human life on this planet, if there’s anyone who could help them, or perhaps anything any humans left behind that could help them in any way. Their situation looks bleak, but it’s not entirely hopeless. The planet being as it is there might well be settlers somewhere, or rebels, though Charles desperately hopes for the former. Only—even if there are humans on this planet, it’s likely they won’t ever find them. How far can they get on foot? And for how long will their rations last?

Speaking of rations—they haven’t actually eaten anything yet, or drunk anything.

“Erik?” Charles asks as he clambers outside through the hole, the blanket and his med kit clutched firmly to his chest. “How about breakfast?”

The pilot is already several feet up front, walking along the rock face, staring ahead. He doesn’t turn as Charles addresses him, his eyes firmly fixed on some point along the rock. 

“Not yet.”

Charles walks up to him. “We should really eat something, you know. And drink—do you think this snow is really just water or perhaps something else?” 

The thought has only just come to him. What if drinking the snow makes them sick?

“It’s water. You can drink it,” Erik says, still not looking at him. “I tried it. It’s fine.”

Charles glances in the same direction that Erik keeps staring at. “What’s wrong?”

Erik doesn’t respond at once. “A path,” he says then. “It’s a path.”

Charles releases a long breath, also noticing the flattened snow and the lane in between the bushes. “You’re right,” he whispers. “Do you think people—”

“Or large animals, or something else,” Erik interrupts him with an air of impatience. “Could be anything.”

Charles considers this option. It doesn’t exactly cheer him up. He hasn’t even considered wild animals as an additional threat. Or some other kind of intelligent life. Their situation looks bad indeed. They’re stuck on this planet, probably for good, without a lot of food, possibly with wild animals around eager to tear them to pieces. And even if they do manage to get away—where is there to go for Charles, now that he knows that the people he deemed not exactly friends, but guardians of his, have turned out to want him dead? He longs to see Raven again, and Logan, but how could that even be possible? How will he ever see them again? And what will they think? Will they believe him dead, or will they keep looking for him? What does he want them to think? Does he want them to keep hope alive where there isn’t any?

No, he can’t do that to them. Even if that means they’ll forget about him.

A hopelessness that Charles has so far managed to keep at bay sweeps over him, crushing him, making his chest constrict, his legs buckle, and his vision turn blurry. The only reason he doesn’t hit the ground is because Erik grabs hold of his arm just in time.

“Careful there,” says Erik, his voice surprisingly soft all of a sudden. “Sit down.”

He directs Charles to a piece of rock lying in the snow, and Charles sinks down on it, his eyes closed, trying to will away the darkness.

“Here, take some.” 

Erik forces something cold in Charles’ hand. Snow. 

“I guess you might need some fluid.”

Carefully and with slightly trembling fingers Charles shoves the snow into his mouth. It’s cold at first, but it melts almost at once, turning into refreshing water. Charles didn’t even realise how thirsty he was.

“More,” he mumbles, and within moments there’s more cold snow in his hands, which he eagerly drinks. 

Several times this happens, until Charles feels ready to open his eyes again.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, glancing up at Erik standing before him, wearing a frown. “And sorry.” His ears grow hot again. He feels like a complete idiot. He almost fainted there. Why? He’s not some delicate flower.

Erik watches him intently, the frown still firmly in place. “You look better,” he says after a moment. “Not as pale.”

He’s clearly referring to the blush creeping up Charles neck. The realisation makes Charles blush even worse.

“Maybe we should really eat something before we leave,” Erik says after a moment of silence. “I don’t want you collapsing again.”

Charles doesn’t say anything. He’s ashamed of his moment of weakness. Why did this have to happen? Does he have to constantly prove Erik right about him? Prove that he’s some kind of  pampered posh boy who needs to be looked after? Charles can hardly stand the thought. He hates being weak. There’s absolutely nothing he hates more about himself.

Erik kneels down to extract the bag of nuts from the metal box. 

“No allergies, I hope?” he asks.

Charles shakes his head, avoiding Erik’s eyes, so as not to have to see his expression, which must surely show the man’s contempt for Charles’ weakness. Or pity, which would be even worse.

It’s not much, but nevertheless the nuts taste like a feast. Just like he didn’t realise how thirsty he was, Charles only realises his own hunger once the nuts start filling the void in his stomach.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, savouring every single piece in their mouths. They both know they’ll have to ration their food carefully. They have no idea whether they’ll be able to find anything edible anytime soon after all.

Charles is first to speak again. “For how long do you think it’ll be light?”

Erik chews and swallows, then takes another nut from the bag. “I’m not sure. I think it was dark for about seven hours. Given that it looks as though it’s winter where we are—considering the snow, but also the fact that there’s grass, so sometimes it must be warmer—I’d say there’s more darkness than light. So I guess that days here last about twelve to thirteen hours, which leaves five to six hours of light.”

Charles looks at him, almost smiling, but just stopping himself. He’s had similar thoughts, but he’s nevertheless impressed by Erik’s analysis.

“So you think maybe another three hours?”

Erik nods. “Three to four is my estimation.”

Charles gets up on slightly trembling legs. “We should get going then, shouldn’t we?”

Erik glances up at him from where he’s kneeling in the snow, a scrutinising look on his face. “Are you sure you’re up to that?”

Charles clenches his jaw. Apparently Erik has already marked him down as someone who needs looking after, someone weak. Where hasErik’s roughness gone? His open dislike of Charles? Even though it hurt and made him feel insecure at times Charles found it easier to deal with than Erik’s current air of feigned concern. Charles has had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

Or is Erik simply concerned about Charles holding them back, being a hindrance? 

Well, he’s certainly being one at the moment.

“I’m fine,” Charles presses out through gritted teeth.

Erik keeps watching him for another moment, then shrugs, apparently indifferent. “Alright then.” He gets up too, closing the box with a flick of his hand. “Maybe we can find a larger cave before it gets dark.”

 

They walk along the rock face, only stopping occasionally to collect some dry wood they find on the way, but staying silent all the while, both keeping their eyes and ears open for any signs of life, either human or beastly.

Charles’ feet start to hurt after only a few minutes, but he grits his teeth and tries to blank it out. He’s not going to make them stop again because he’s too weak to carry on. He’ll probably have to deal with far worse things than hurting feet in the following days and perhaps weeks—if they’re lucky and don’t die within the next days. 

However much they look, they don’t find any more evidence of animals or possible human life, but there are several openings similar to the one they slept in the previous night. Erik stops at each one, inspecting it quickly, then walking on without looking at Charles or talking to him.

Charles finds he’s too tired and cold to care much, at least for the moment. It looks as though the old taciturn and antipathetic Erik is back, the one who’s not afraid to show Charles how little he likes him by either scoffing at or snubbing him, or—as it’s happening right now—ignoring him. Perhaps this is a good thing, even though it is kind of childish and (undeniably) depressing. But at least it seems more honest. At least Charles knows he’s not being lied to.

After about an hour freezing cold adds to the pain, and not just in his feet. Charles is shaking again, and not even being on the move helps anymore. He tries to hide it best he can, however. They can’t stop just because he’s feeling cold. If they don’t find a cave before it gets dark they’re in deep trouble. Especially if Erik is right and there really are wild animals around.

When Erik finally does find an opening that seems to satisfy him he climbs inside, pulling the survival box and the metal boards carrying the wood they’ve collected after him without looking at Charles or signalling to him in any way that this is where they’ll spend the night. After a moment’s hesitation Charles follows him inside.

The cave isn’t large, perhaps about forty square feet, but it’s definitely an improvement from their refuge the night before. Charles’ neck and back still hurt from his uncomfortable sleeping position.

Erik is already busy arranging twigs and branches near the entrance hole, and Charles hurries to help him. Together they manage to start a fire just as quickly as the night before.

“Dinner?” 

Charles turns to look at Erik. It’s the first time either of them has spoken since they left in the morning. Erik’s holding a tin of mushroom soup in his hands. Charles is a little embarrassed by how much the sight makes his mouth water.

He nods. “And some more snow?” he asks.

Erik doesn’t say anything, but pulls one of the metal boards closer with his powers.

Charles can’t prevent a small smile as he watches the board divide itself into two halves, one of them changing its form, turning into a pot with a handle on top. Their situation may be messed up, Erik may be a grumpy and unpleasant fellow, and he may hate Charles, but his mutation is extraordinary, and a joy to watch.

“Collect some?” Erik asks, floating the pot over to Charles.

 

When Charles returns, the pot full of snow, the light surrounding him has just started to turn orange, his watch telling him it’s almost 5am Earth time. So their calculations were correct. Days on this unknown planet really last about twelve hours. It’ll be strange to settle into their new rhythm, sleep more often but shorter stretches at a time—on the other hand, Charles is already exhausted again, the few hours of walking through the snowy wilderness having completely drained him. Maybe it’s a good thing days here last shorter rather than longer than they’re used to. Plus, it’ll be easy to remember taking the serum every other evening, since it lasts approximately twenty-four hours. Since Hank equipped him with two weeks worth of serum, that means he has twenty-eight days of it here. And once he runs out...better not to think of it.

Charles is astonished to see that Erik has used the rest of the board to form some kind of rack to put over the fire, the tin of mushroom soup hanging on a hook down from it. As soon as Erik spots Charles he floats the pot over to the fire and hangs it on another hook.

The snow melts almost at once, turning into water.

Charles sits down slightly apart from Erik but nevertheless close to the fire. Its warmth caresses his frozen face. 

Oh, how good it is to feel the warmth again.

How he hates the cold. 

Charles pulls off his shoes and socks again, which are once more soaked through. It stings and burns badly as the once-white socks stick to his skin, large dark-red marks denoting the points where blisters must have formed and broken.

It’ll hurt like hell tomorrow, putting his ineffectual shoes back on, but that can’t be a reason to stay. They need to keep going, find something, anything, to help them get away from this planet, and they need to do so before they run out of food.

Charles thinks he can feel Erik’s eyes linger on his bloodied feet, but as he turns the pilot is staring into the fire, apparently lost in thoughts.

For the first time Charles catches himself longing to be able to read them.

The hot water is heavenly, warming Charles’ frozen insides more effectively than the fire could have done in hours. Closing his eyes, holding the metal cup firmly in both hands, the hot steam wafting over his face, Charles can almost imagine holding a cup of tea. In the palace, with Logan by his side. Logan, who’d be smirking at Charles’ expression, the undue enjoyment on his face.

“It’s just tea, Chuck,” he’d laugh. “Just ordinary tea.”

It would make Charles laugh too, not embarrassed in the slightest by being teased like this. “Don’t ever let me hear you say ‘just tea’ again,” he’d say with a grin. “It’s the best invention humans have ever made.”

And Logan would shake his head, also grinning.

“Are you done?”

The rough voice cuts sharply through Charles’ daydream, and he opens his eyes.

Of course. They decided to share the cup instead of having Erik make a second one. Erik is waiting, probably as cold and thirsty as Charles was. 

Charles drinks up quickly and hands the cup over to Erik who doesn’t thank him or even look at him, but who uses his powers to dunk the cup into the pot over the fire, then floats it back, along with the steaming tin of soup.

They eat and drink in silence, savouring both the hot water and the soup as though they were a feast, just like they did with the nuts earlier. Charles is still hungry once the tin is empty, and he reckons Erik must be too, but he doesn’t ask if they can open another tin—he knows it wouldn’t be sensible after all.

Erik washes out the tin with the rest of the water, then stores it safely away with everything else. They’ll have another cup from now on.

As they sit there, slightly apart from each other and not speaking, Charles feels a sudden longing for conversation. Perhaps the fantasy of his little banter with Logan kindled it, perhaps it was there all along, but he just needs someone to talk to. About anything really. Warm, friendly, perhaps even comforting words. 

Yes, Charles hated the feigned concern earlier, and he wanted nothing more than for Erik to not look at him anymore while he was feeling weak, but this silence...it’s perhaps worse. And they managed to have a few moments of civil conversation so far, didn’t they? Anything would feel better than being ignored at the moment.

Charles isn’t used to long silences. There used to be his telepathy, which made him feel oddly connected to every person and their story wherever he went (unless they were wearing a helmet of course). And even since he lost that he’s never really been alone. Logan was always around, and though Logan isn’t exactly talkative he always answered when Charles asked him something, and he never ignored him. And when Raven was around...well, then the noise was sometimes even too much.

Talking and listening has always made Charles feel alive and real, and this silence...it’s hard to bear.

Perhaps Erik feels the same way. Perhaps he can put his animosity aside for a while. They don’t have to talk about anything personal, but can’t they just...talk?

“Erik?” Charles asks tentatively.

“Hmm?” The pilot keeps staring into the fire, but he definitely heard Charles.

“How did you manage to save us?”

“What do you mean?”

Charles swallows. He desperately hopes that this is not too personal. “When we fell. We should have died, but we didn’t even break any bones.”

Erik doesn’t reply immediately. His eyes are fixed on the dancing flames. 

“My mutation saved us,” he says then.

Charles already suspected this, but nevertheless it intrigues him.

“So it’s more than just controlling metal?” he asks.

For the first time Erik turns his head to look directly at him. His face is wearing a frown and a rather hostile expression.

“I control magnetic fields,” he says in a defiant tone. “This planet obviously has one, so I could use it to slow us down.”

Charles realises that his mouth is gaping, and quickly closes it.

“That’s amazing,” he manages to say after a moment.

Erik lets out a small, rather scornful laugh. “Oh, is it?”

“Yes…?”

Charles watches Erik’s angry expression, his set jaw, his arms hugging his legs, his clenched fists.

Did he say something wrong?

“Erik—”

“Now it’s amazing, isn’t it, my mutation?” Erik presses out through gritted teeth. “Now that you’re stuck here with me, now that it’s saved your life, it’s suddenly  _ fascinating.” _

Charles can only stare at him, horrified.  _ What is going on? _

“You and your family treat us like shit on Earth, like fucking scum. But obviously here it’s  _ amazing, _ isn’t it?”

“They’re not my family,” Charles manages to splutter.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Oh, that’s your goddamn excuse, is it?” Erik shakes his head, his jaw set so tightly, it looks painful. “You’re the fucking  _ Crown Prince. _ It’s  _ your _ Empire. So this is all on you, and don’t you fucking deny it. Marko? He’s just filling in. But you allowed him to do all that, to pass laws to mark us as the demonic creatures you think we are, keeping us unemployed and shunned, living in poverty, like animals, without dignity, fucking hopeless.” Erik pulls down his sleeve forcefully and shoves his wrist almost into Charles’ face.  _ “Look at it! _ Don’t you dare look away! It’s ugly, isn’t it? By orders of the goddamn palace, your fucking  _ home!” _

Charles shrinks back a few inches, his heart beating hard in his throat. Erik’s wrist is almost too close for him to make out the dark red mark burned into it, but he does see it. And he gets what it means.

It’s as though ice cold water is running through his veins, freezing him, making him feel terribly sick. 

No. Kurt wouldn’t do that. He can’t have done it. His own  _ daughter _ is a mutant after all.

“What is that?” Charles chokes.

Erik stares at him, disbelief in his eyes. “Don’t you fucking pretend,” he says in a dangerously low voice.

“I don’t—tell me it’s not—” Charles shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. “Please tell me they didn’t burn that into your skin because you’re a mutant.” His voice is pleading. He feels pathetic, and so, so fucking guilty at the same time.

This can’t be true, but...it must be real. Erik’s anger at least is definitely real. And it’s justified too.

Oh, the horror this implies...

Charles wants to run away, hide his face, and yet he can’t move, as though paralysed again.

Erik’s jaw is working furiously, but his anger seems beyond words, at least for the moment.

“God, Erik, I swear I didn’t—this is the first time—” 

Charles is spluttering, and it sounds like nothing more than lame excuses, even to him. How could he not have known this? He  _ knew _ mutants were mistrusted, especially by Kurt and his lords. He’s hidden his own mutation from the world for years for that very reason, but he had no idea to which lengths Kurt had gone to demonise mutants further, to push them to the very edge of civilisation.

The image of what must have been happening behind Charles’ back makes his chest constrict so painfully he can hardly breathe at all. 

If Erik’s word is to be believed—and why should he lie about this?—the burn marks are only the tip of the iceberg. Introduced to select, to mark, to segregate and open doors for lord knows what kinds of horrible measures. All these people, suffering, perhaps dying, for something they can’t help, something they were born as…

Charles feels tears well up inside him, and tries to swallow them down.

No wonder Erik hates him.

If only he could tell Erik that he’s a mutant too, that he knows and understands his pain—at least part of it. But Charles’ suffering, the discrimination he endured by Kurt’s hands can’t possibly compare to what ordinary mutants like Erik must have gone through, must be going through right at this moment. And anyway, how could Charles prove it? He doesn’t have a mark after all, and the serum stops him from using his telepathy. And hasn’t Kurt stressed time and time again that telepathy is the very worst and most dangerous of all mutations? That the only place telepaths can be of use is as spies, just like Emma Frost, vetting their employees? That even other mutants are wary of telepaths and mistrust them? Hasn’t Charles seen prove of just that in all of his closest friends? Raven and Logan, both so supportive of him otherwise, allowed him to speak to them telepathically, but firmly told him to stay on the surface and not go sneaking around in their thoughts. Because, ultimately, even they were scared of what he could do.

Why should that be different with Erik? He doesn’t like or trust Charles, so why should he be accepting of Charles’ mutation, when nobody, not even his closest friends, ever were?

No, Charles can’t tell him.

“My sister is a mutant,” Charles croaks instead. “Raven. She’s a shapeshifter. I didn’t think Kurt would be capable of—if his own daughter—”

“I thought they weren’t your family,” Erik says coldly.

Charles swallows. There’s absolutely nothing he can say or do to make this right.

Erik is right. This is on him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I should have realised, I—if I’d known I—I promise you, if we get out of this alive, if I really do become Emperor, I will put this right again. All of it.”

They are feeble words, without much meaning, but it’s all Charles can offer at the moment.

Erik looks at him, his expression inscrutable, his eyes traveling over Charles’ face as though desperately looking for answers to some unknown questions, or perhaps trying to detect a lie there, then drifting away again, back to the fire. Charles can see Erik’s fists unclench and clench again several times, the horrible red scar on Erik’s wrist illuminated by the fire, his jaw still working furiously, his mind so obviously picking apart everything he just heard and saw. 

What Charles would give at this moment to have his telepathy.

“Answer me this one thing,” Erik says suddenly, his head snapping back in Charles’ direction, his eyes boring into Charles’. 

Charles nods. “Anything.” 

He hardly knows Erik, and yet he feels he owes him this, perhaps owes it to all the mutants.

“You say you didn’t know. How is that possible?”

“I…” Charles feels a blush creeping up his neck again.

How  _ is _ it possible? How is it possible he doesn’t know what’s going on in his own Empire? It’s not as though he’s uninformed, even though he never had any power to make decisions himself. He explicitly asked to be informed about any new policies, any laws passed, any changes made, and yet the list that he got was never very long. He just trusted that the information he got was genuine, and since protocol as well as firm security measures put in place by Kurt forbid him to leave the palace unaccompanied by at least a dozen men, he never got the chance to see if any of it was true.

He hardly left the palace at all since his accident, and that was two years ago, first because he couldn’t walk and Kurt insisted that nobody could see him in a wheelchair or they’d all think him weak and wouldn’t trust the palace anymore, then because, without his telepathy, he didn’t feel safe any longer.

All Kurt’s doing, leaving him free to do whatever he wanted, without need of Charles’ approval. Unwatched and unchecked.

How is it possible? Charles was a stupid, naive, trusting fool, that’s how.

“I didn’t check because I trusted Kurt Marko, even though I knew deep down that he wasn’t a good man.” Charles’ voice sounds hoarse, but he tries to keep it steady. He looks at Erik, not seeking understanding in his eyes because he knows he won’t find any. “I was a fool. I should have seen him for who he is, but I allowed myself to believe he was someone I knew he was not. I...I was too naive.” His voice breaks, but he still forces himself to keep looking right at Erik, not lowering his eyes.

Erik stares at him for what feels like several minutes, his eyes scrutinising every detail of Charles’ face. Even though apart from his shoes and socks Charles is fully clothed, he feels more naked than ever before in his life under Erik’s intense gaze.

Erik takes a deep breath, his eyes not leaving Charles’ face.

“Swear it,” he says sharply. “Swear that if you become Emperor, you’ll undo Marko’s policies against mutants. Swear that you’ll make sure we’ll be treated with as much respect as we deserve. Swear that Marko and everyone who committed crimes against mutants and innocent civilians under Marko’s rule will be brought to justice.”

“I swear it,” Charles says at once. “All of it.” He’s never been more certain about anything in his life.

Erik’s eyes narrow as he stares at Charles for another few seconds, before he turns away without another word, pulling the blanket over himself and lying down, facing the wall, his back turned in Charles’ direction.

Charles stares into the flames, shivering, but not from cold.

He always knew Kurt wasn’t a good sovereign, deep inside. Kurt always said a good sovereign needed to be strong, but he never had any sympathy to spare for the weak and powerless. Shouldn’t that be what qualifies you as a good sovereign? Caring for the weak and powerless?

It’s not as though Charles had any real power to stop Kurt. Law stopped him from taking any influence before his twenty-fifth birthday, a law put in place to protect the Empire from a young sovereign without any life experience. But nevertheless his word carried weight, it mattered what he said or wanted, or it would have had if he’d spoken more loudly and with more confidence.

Charles sighs quietly, rubbing his eyes.

The truth is he was too busy feeling sorry for himself, planning his own escape from the throne before he’d even ascended it, glad that he didn’t have to deal with any of it yet.

He  _ wanted _ to be oblivious. He wanted to escape from the truth, live in the tiny world he’d built himself, just be left alone, not be responsible.

And yet that was what made him responsible in the end, wasn’t it? It all comes down to his damned weakness and cowardice, allowing terrible things to happen right under his nose, allowing people to be treated horribly simply because they were born a certain way.

Charles has never hated himself more.

At least now he understands why Erik hates him too.

“Charles. Get under the blanket. We need to keep warm.”

It’s not a question, it’s an order, and Charles hastens to obey it.

Erik is still facing the wall, and so Charles can’t see his face, though he’s not sure if he wants to anyway. He lies down with his back to Erik’s back, close enough to warm but not to touch.

He’s not kidding himself. Erik allowing him to slip under the blanket isn’t a sign of forgiveness. They need each other’s bodies to keep warm. It’s just practical, as Charles himself said.

It doesn’t mean anything.


	7. 1.7 Erik

As Erik wakes he finds Charles’ face right in front of his. They must have both turned over night, because they sure as hell weren’t as close when they both went to sleep.

Luckily Erik doesn’t startle, and so he manages to retreat quietly and carefully without waking the Prince, packing up all their belongings, then sneaking outside for a quick piss.

When Erik returns, Charles is just pulling on his shoes. He doesn’t glance at Erik as he mumbles, “Good morning.”

Charles is quieter than the previous two days, hardly uttering a single word, no longer looking at Erik, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground most of the time, as though still ashamed of what they talked about the previous night. He looks tired too, as though he slept badly, which is no surprise given that they’ve been lying on hard rock without any cushioning. After only two short days there’s hardly anything left of the posh and prim Prince that Erik met on the ship. His suit is dirty and ripped, there are dark circles under his eyes, and a shadow of reddish stubble on his chin.

It makes him look about ten years older, though, admittedly, Erik doubts he himself looks any better.

Erik doesn’t make any attempts to get the Prince to talk. He’s never minded the silence after all, and he’s not entirely sure how he’d feel about anything Charles could say to him. Their conversation from the previous night is still whirling around in his head, confusing him, making him alternately angry, and, avowedly, hopeful.

As hard as Erik tries to grasp the hatred he used to feel for Charles for being part of the brutal and unjust regime that is the Empire, as hard as he tries to bring it back, to wrap himself into it and use it to shield himself against any other kinds of emotions, he finds he can’t. It’s no longer there, faded away after their talk the previous night. It scares him, that he can’t find his hatred for Charles anymore, because he desperately needs it. It was a constant reminder of his hatred for Shaw, for Marko, for all the men who killed the people in his village, after they left the ship and Shaw himself was no longer graspable, after everything went dull and unreal. And yet...the Prince feels separate from all these people now. Different.

Erik should feel angrier at Charles, the hatred at the man and everything he stands for (or stood for) should keep burning hotly in his chest, feeding the anger, but now he can’t help part of this anger seeping out of him, to be replaced by...what? 

Erik’s not entirely sure what he feels at the moment, especially when it comes to Charles. There are so many conflicting emotions there, old and new.

Frustration, dislike, impatience, but also hope, even traces of something reminiscent of respect, and a strange kind of fondness that can only be explained by the fact that they’re alone together, the only humans —or, in Erik’s case, mutants— far and wide, and therefore at least in some ways dependent on one another.

It’s entirely irrational, but Erik can’t help  believing Charles’ assertions that he never knew about the Empire’s mutant policies. It’s stupid, idiotic,  and Erik can’t wrap his head around how it’s possible that he, of all people, finds himself trusting anyone, least of all the  _ Crown Prince, _ so easily. Yet there’s no denying that everything about Charles just seems...real, and genuine, like no other person Erik has ever met. Erik shouldn’t allow himself to lower his guard like that, to betray his own pledge to never trust anyone, but he can’t help thinking that  the Prince’s shock at what he saw on Erik’s wrist, and his consternation seemed genuine— not to mention that there’s no denying the fact that Shaw tried to kill him.

Why should Shaw kill the Crown Prince if it wasn’t to try and stop change from happening? Perhaps things would have taken a turn for the better once Charles had become Emperor after all. Perhaps that was why Shaw decided to get rid of him. Perhaps Charles was a danger to the old order that Kurt Marko had established over the last almost fifteen years, something that Shaw profited from so unfairly.

This factual evidence that there must be something about Charles Xavier that made Shaw decide the Empire would do better without him is perhaps the strongest argument, because Erik prides himself in thinking that he’s a rational observer, relying on facts and not deceptive feelings such as trust. Erik just can’t get around the fact that anyone who Shaw deems necessary to kill might be a potential ally, or at least not an enemy of his.

Nevertheless, Charles admitted to having made a mistake. He admitted that he could have done more, paid more attention. The thought that, just because some posh Prince was too lazy to check and see what his maniac of a mentor was getting up to, hundreds of thousands of mutants suffered terribly still makes Erik’s blood boil. He despises Charles for his negligence, it makes him want to grab Charles’ shoulders and shake him, yet there’s also this tiny (and unwelcome) voice in the back of his head that tells him Charles wouldn’t have let any of the injustice happen if he’d known about it. 

Erik tries to blank out this voice. What does he know about Charles anyway? His perception of the Prince is obviously still tainted by the fantasies of friendship and connection in his childhood. Fact is, things might have been different if the Prince had just paid the tiniest bit of attention. Mutant lives might have been saved, suffering might have been prevented. But all the same, what’s done is done, and Erik at least trusts that the Prince himself didn’t have a hand in it. And there’s no denying either that Charles might be mutantkind’s best chance. Erik’s best chance.

If what he swore the previous night is to be believed, that is. And if they ever manage to leave this vile planet.

 

They walk in silence all day, not spotting any signs of human or mutant life, nor any other larger creatures, luckily. They do, however, come past a few strange smaller animals that take flight as soon as they spot them, but nothing to harm them. They look like nothing Erik’s ever seen before, not even in a book. Many-legged, sometimes even winged, they may be like mammals or birds, but there’s something entirely distinct about them.

“A separate evolution,” Charles murmurs, more to himself than Erik, the first time a small leathery-looking creature takes off into the air as soon as they lay eyes on it. “Fascinating.”

It’s the first time Charles speaks at all since he wished Erik a good morning, and afterwards he immediately falls silent again, staring at the snowy ground, a grim determination ever-present on his face, as well as something like anger, at himself, Erik, somebody else, or the universe in general, Erik can’t tell.

The universe would definitely deserve it.

They don’t manage to find a large enough cave again, and end up crammed together even more tightly than the first night. Nevertheless Charles tries to turn away from Erik again, as he injects whatever drug it is into his arm once more.

Erik pretends to be asleep as he does it, trying very hard not to think about it too much, about what will happen once Charles runs out.

The sitting position they have to sleep in is highly uncomfortable, their legs pulled up to their bodies, their heads tilted slightly to the side because of the low ceiling, their sides pressed tightly together hip-to-shoulder.

Erik suspects that the Prince finds this more discomforting than he does himself. He’s spent all his life in a palace, while Erik has dealt with all kinds of difficult situations. He adapts, because he must. He makes do with what he has. He’s never been much of a talker, so he doesn’t mind the silence, he doesn’t even mind the isolation in itself.

Nevertheless Erik has to admit the feeling of a shoulder against his own, of a body pressed against his, however reluctantly, is somewhat reassuring.

This new—or previously suppressed—feeling is somewhat disconcerting to Erik. He always prided himself in his independence, which he knew was essential to get him where he needed to be. If everyone in the universe left him (as it felt when his parents died) Erik would still keep going. He never needed anyone after Shaw burned down his village.

True, there were physical desires that needed fulfilment, and if he got the chance, if there were people (or, preferably, mutants) around who wanted the same thing, Erik used their bodies to sate this very crude need. However, he found out very soon that he didn’t really  _ need them. _ If there was nobody who offered themselves to him, Erik would do with his hand, and the itch would leave him alone for two weeks or more. He never before, not since his parents’ death, had felt that he simply needed another person’s touch to reassure him he wasn’t alone. Being alone has been the norm since he was about eleven after all.

Trying not to think about it too much, about everything it implies, the fact that he might go crazy if he were actually left alone on this planet for need of company, or that he might be unable to leave Charles behind if he started showing withdrawal symptoms, Erik closes his eyes tightly, directing his thoughts in other directions, as if to escape it.

There has to be some way for them to leave this planet. Some possibility. Some chance. Anything. If only they manage to get back to Earth—

That’s where his thoughts always come to a crashing halt, partly because it seems so unlikely, and partly because he simply can’t imagine what would happen next. Charles won’t just be able to walk into the palace after he’s been declared dead.

What would happen? Would a war break out? But Charles doesn’t have an army, so would they just be chucked into jail, murdered in secret so nobody would see?

But he’s thinking too far, isn’t he? First, they need to find a way to leave this planet. But is that at all possible?

 

The next morning, after three short planetary days of travelling from cave to cave, Charles speaks again for what feels like the first time in ages. “I think we should try and go back into the forest.”

Erik looks at him. “Why? We won’t find caves there.”

“No,” Charles agrees. “But I think if there are settlements anywhere it won’t be near the rock. We should look for clearings, streams, anything of the sort. It’s where I’d build a village if I had the choice.”

He has a point, but nevertheless the suggestion makes Erik uneasy. 

“Where will we stay the night? We need shelter.” 

Not to mention the fact that in the middle of the forest it’s far more likely they’ll meet large and wild animals eager to rip their guts out.

“I suggest we travel into the forest each day, but keep walking parallel to the rock, so—if we haven’t managed to find anything by dusk—we turn back and look for a cave.”

Erik considers this for a moment. “Alright,” he says then.

He can get behind this plan. It’s a risk, but possibly their only chance too. Charles is right. They need to find something, someone, anything, to get away from this planet before it’s too late. And he’s also right to think that they’re more likely to find people if they stray from the rock face.

Predictably though, they don’t find anything within the first day of exploring the forest, and return to the rock face just in time to find the smallest crevasse yet. Because darkness is already upon them, and because darkness on this planet seems absolute, they don’t walk on, but squeeze themselves inside. There’s no space for a fire, but they have to practically sit on top of one another anyway, which might be enough to keep them warm.

Charles especially seems uncomfortable sitting with his legs draped over Erik’s, and—since Erik needs to pull his knees up to his body for lack of room—pressed in between Erik’s legs and torso. He keeps staring anywhere but at Erik’s face, his lips pressed tightly together, his arms, hands in tight fists, hugging his chest.

Erik can practically feel the waves of shame and guilt and anger radiating from him, even though he’s no psychic. 

It’s right for Charles to feel shame and guilt, he made a grave mistake and innocent mutants suffered for it. And he should feel angry, hopefully at his mentor, Kurt Marko, and maybe Shaw too, even though Charles probably _ —hopefully— _ has no idea of the horrible crimes Shaw committed. If he did, and still accepted Captain Shaw to lead the fleet...no, he doesn’t know. There’s no way Charles knows anything about Shaw’s monstrous crimes.

Nevertheless, Erik realises—once more to his own surprise—that he finds the silent, remorseful, bitter version of Charles hard to bear. Even though he was annoyed by the Prince’s talking more than once in their first two days on this planet, now that it’s gone it already feels as though something is missing, and as if their situation got a little darker for it.

There’s no reason, really, to keep Charles suffering in silence, is there? Plus, there are things Erik wants to know, things that might help him understand more, and plan better.

“Charles?”

The Prince’s eyes flick in Erik’s direction for a fraction of a second and back to the rock wall opposite him. At least he’s definitely heard.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away,” Charles mumbles tonelessly, still staring at the rock.

“What can you tell me about Kurt Marko and his family?”

It’s been on Erik’s mind a lot over the last days. If Charles wasn’t close to the man, if—as he said—he always knew Marko wasn’t “a good man”, what was their relationship like? If Charles shone some light on all the mysteries of the palace, Erik might be able to understand it all better, understand Charles’ role in all of it better, which might help him sort out his own confusing and conflicting emotions regarding the Prince. Besides, perhaps there are weaknesses Charles knows about, secrets that have never travelled outside the inner chambers of the palace, information that could be of use, in case they ever managed to get away from their planetary prison.

This time Charles fixes Erik’s face with his eyes for a longer time, scrutinising, but not suspiciously so, as far as Erik can tell.

“What do you want to know?” he asks after a moment.

“Anything, really,” Erik replies. “When did you first meet him?”

Charles stares at the rock wall again, but now his expression is contemplative rather than bitter or sad.

“I think I was about five or six,” he says slowly. “He became my father’s advisor and moved his family, that is to say his son and daughter, into the palace with him.”

“What happened to their mother?”

“I think she died shortly after giving birth to Raven. Some kind of infection. I never met her.” He smiles sadly. “Raven wasn’t even a year old when they moved in. She became my little baby sister.”

He swallows, then falls silent as though having said too much.

It’s not the first time Charles has called Marko’s daughter his ‘sister’. Though Erik has no idea what it is, there definitely seems some kind of special connection between the Prince and the Emperor’s daughter. Perhaps she isn’t like her father. Perhaps she’s more like Charles, kinder and more empathic than the rest of her family. She’s a mutant, if what Charles said was true. That would explain a lot.

Erik shakes his head a little. 

Where did that come from? He doesn’t know for sure whether Charles truly is what he pretends to be, or whether he’s just a good actor. Erik has to be careful. He can’t start trusting someone he hardly knows just because he’s in a desperate situation. Someone, moreover, who could have Erik destroyed in an instant if they got back on Earth.

Trying to conceal his momentary awkwardness Erik speaks again.

“What did you think of him?”

Charles shrugs. “I hardly saw him to be honest, only at mealtimes, when the children were supposed to eat in silence. I mostly played with Raven—or hid from Cain, his son, who was two years older than me and...well...let’s just say he didn’t like me much.”

“So when Marko became your guardian you didn’t even know him?”

“Not really.” Another sad smile. “He was just my father’s friend and advisor, and—as became evident after my parents’ death—the person my father had appointed my guardian and his substitute in case of his death.”

Erik frowns. Obviously he knew that there must have been a reason for Marko to be appointed the Prince’s guardian, but he never knew it was by orders of Emperor Xavier himself. And he definitely didn’t know that, in case of Charles’ death, Marko would become Emperor for real—again, by orders of Charles’ late father. Something about the information bugs him, even though it isn’t actually that surprising after all.

“You know,” Charles says suddenly, as though remembering something. “I almost died in that plane crash too. I was supposed to travel with them.”

“Really?”

Erik definitely didn’t know that.

“Yes,” Charles says thoughtfully. “It was this big event on the other side of the planet. Some banquet in honour of an old, honourable war hero. We were supposed to travel together, but then I fell ill unexpectedly, and I couldn’t go. One of those really horrible migraines I got then because—” Charles blushes slightly, but soon catches himself again and goes on. “Kurt actually tried to find a way for me to accompany them anyway, but my father insisted I don’t travel if I’m so poorly. I guess that decision saved my life,” he adds pensively.

Erik’s frown deepens. Marko was adamant the young Crown Prince accompanied his parents to some boring old veteran’s event though he was ill? That doesn’t seem right, especially in light of the fact that the plane crashed later, due to some unidentified engine problem.

Did nobody bother to look into that?

Charles gasps almost inaudibly, and Erik glances at him to see a look of sheer horror on his face.

He must have made the same connection as Erik did then.

“Shit,” Charles breathes out. He looks close to tears. Angry tears. “How didn’t I see—I’ve been such an idiot. Again.”

There’s no need to discuss what made Charles so upset. Unsure what to do, Erik awkwardly lifts his hand to put it on the Prince’s shoulder, but they’re pressed so close together that it doesn’t really make any difference anyway. Perhaps Charles doesn’t even notice it.

It shouldn’t be as shocking a revelation as it is. Erik always knew Kurt Marko was a monster, but he always guessed that he simply took his chance as it offered itself to him, not that he had an active hand in the Emperor and his wife’s murder. And Charles’ attempted murder—twice now—Erik realises with a start. In light of all the new information it seems rather unlikely Shaw was acting on his own—which makes the situation even more difficult perhaps.

Or more straight-forward, because this just means that Marko will definitely have to die too. Not that it was really a question before.

What kind of man tries to kill a nine-year-old boy?

Erik can answer that for himself. The same man who hunted down mutants, had ugly marks burnt into their skin to shun them and use them as scapegoats whenever something bad happened. The same man who allowed people all over his Empire to suffer and starve, using his newly-created mutant scapegoats as a target for all those poor people’s rightful anger. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Give the poor someone to hate, create a common enemy, and they won’t realise that the real reason for their misery are the people on top.

 

Charles falls asleep with his forehead against Erik’s chest that night, and Erik doesn’t bother pushing him away.

 

They keep going like this for another two days, without any change except for the fact that Charles starts to talk more again. 

To his own surprise, Erik isn’t annoyed by this in the slightest. He even finds himself smiling sometimes, when Charles lets show his utter fascination with the unknown environment and the strange creatures in it. Erik himself would never have been able to find any positives about their situation, but Charles makes him appreciate the weird-looking plants and animals they come across—though Erik prefers not to remind him that sooner or later they’ll in all probability have to start killing and eating some of them.

Hopefully they’re not poisonous.

The days seem not to last as long now that they talk, and the evenings are more comfortable too, now that they don’t spend them sulking or ignoring each other anymore.

It feels good to have Charles for company—too good. Erik has to remind himself several times that getting too attached to his companion isn’t a good idea, especially when he witnesses Charles furtively injecting himself with the mysterious green drug again. There inevitably will come a time when Erik will have to decide between risking his own life to keep Charles safe, and leaving him behind.

Only he can’t bear to think about that, can’t bear thinking about being on his own, and also—if he’s honest with himself—about hurting Charles in any way, or allowing him to be hurt. Besides, apart from any inadvisable emotional dependency on the Prince, there are practical reasons to keep him alive too. His promise to put everything right if he becomes Emperor, for instance, though it seems foolish to put all his hope in that, even though he trusts that Charles’ promise is genuine.

Erik doesn’t think that Charles’ idea of everyone being ‘brought to justice’ matches Erik’s own. Charles has already indicated during one of their conversations that he considers the death penalty barbaric, and that he thinks life imprisonment is sufficient for any kind of crime.

He’s wrong there. Prison might be sufficient in some cases, but it’s not sufficient for Shaw, and neither is it for Marko, or for all the men following Shaw’s orders the night that Erik’s parents died.

The idea of them simply being locked away isn’t nearly satisfying enough, but Charles doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t know anything about Shaw, or Erik’s story, and Erik will keep it that way.

If they manage to leave this planet, if they manage to somehow make Charles Emperor, Erik trusts that a lot of things will indeed change for the better, and so it must happen, for everyone’s sake.

But not all things will be solved. There are things Erik will need to see to himself, and Charles wouldn’t endorse Erik’s way of dealing with them, that much is clear. So he can’t know. Not yet at least.

 

It’s their sixth day on the unknown planet, their third day roaming the woods, that Charles suddenly calls out, excitement and incredulity in his voice.

“Erik! Look! Over there! It’s a cabin, a cabin!” There are actual tears in his eyes. 

He sinks to his knees, trembling, and Erik hurries over to him, to make sure that he’s okay, but also to see for himself.

Charles is shaking, but he seems alright, and so Erik also stares into the same direction as the Prince. Charles is right. There’s definitely a small wooden hut, hidden behind the trees.

Closing his eyes, Erik stretches out his hands to sense the place with his powers. He senses the door hinges, and all kinds of tools and instruments inside. And an oven. There’s a real, actual metal oven inside. But that’s not all…

“Charles,” Erik says weakly. “It’s not just one cabin. It’s a village. A whole village.”

He feels Charles’ hand grabbing hold of his sleeve, then Charles pulls himself upright again.

They look at each other. The excitement is still present in Charles’ eyes, but there’s also apprehension. Apprehension that Erik feels too.

What if it’s a rebel settlement? What will they do to Charles once they’ve guessed who he is? Take him hostage? On the other hand, the Empire is their enemy now too—the rebels, Charles and him might actually want the same thing for now. Or almost the same thing.

“Come on,” Erik murmurs, walking ahead, surreptitiously putting his hand in the pocket of his jacket, grasping the metal dart he built out of a part of the shuttle. Hopefully he won’t have to use it, but he will if he must.

They reach the edge of the clearing unhindered. There’s no sound whatsoever, apart from the soft gurgling sound of water trapped under a sheet of ice—a stream somewhere close, Charles was right about that too—and the rustling of leaves.

Erik holds his breath. Are the people hiding because they saw someone approach. Are he and Charles going to be attacked at any moment? Why is nobody jumping out at them?

He can’t spot any footprints in the snow either.

Erik reaches out with his powers again. If these people have metal instruments, they’ll probably be wearing belts with metal fastenings, or shoes with metal eyelets—he should be able to sense them. Yet there is nothing.

At the same moment, Charles whispers in his ear, “I don’t think anyone’s here. No smoke, look.”

Erik looks up. Charles is right. There is no smoke billowing out of the tiny chimneys on top of any of the cabins. If people lived there, there should be smoke. It’s far too cold to not start a fire.

Charles lets out a soft sigh. “I don’t think anyone’s been here in a long time.”

“What makes you say that?”

In lieu of a reply Charles points at the window of the nearest cabin. One pane is covered in dirt and dust, the other is missing. One look inside reveals utter chaos. Pots and pans, chairs and a table lying scattered and partially broken all over the wooden floorboards. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust. Looking over to another cabin, Erik sees its door swinging loose in its hinges, half-open.

Erik releases a long and shaking breath, overwhelming disappointment, but also a strange kind of relief washing over him. At least there are no enemies here.

“They’re gone,” he mutters. “There’s nobody here.”

Charles steps past him into what must have once been the village square, a large space in the centre, with a snow-covered heap in the middle—perhaps once a large fireplace. There are about twenty cabins surrounding it, their doors facing the square.

The silence is eerie. All the signs are there that at some earlier point in time people went about their daily business here, living their lives. This square must have once been filled with clatter and talk, and now…

What happened to the people who lived here? Did they flee? It almost looks like they were attacked, or maybe all the damage was done by animals after the people had left. What reason did they have to leave?

“No people,” Charles murmurs. “Nobody…”

Erik walks up to him.

Once again there are silent tears in Charles’ eyes, and the same kind of hopelessness Erik witnessed a few days ago when Charles almost collapsed in the snow. He must have been so sure that they’d made it as he saw the cabin. That they’d found people who could help them.

Awkwardly, uncertain what to do, and if any kind of comfort will be welcome, Erik puts a hand on the Prince’s shoulder. He’s relieved when he’s not pushed away. 

The muscles in Charles’ jaw are working and he’s blinking several times, obviously trying very hard to control himself.

Erik has seen that sort of behaviour before, in other people, but also in the Prince and in himself. It’s the desperate attempt not to show any weakness, not to let it wash over you.

After taking a deep breath, Charles speaks again.

“We can’t give up, can we?” He attempts to smile. “Who knows, maybe this is still a chance. Maybe there’s something that’ll help us…” His voice fades away, uncertain.

“Yes,” Erik hurries to reinforce this line of thought. “This is still good. More than we could hope for, really.”

Charles nods emphatically, his lips pressed tightly together.

A question hangs between them, one that neither seems to want to voice. 

After a long silence, Erik braces himself. 

“Do you think we should stay here for a few days? See what they have stored in the cabins? There might be something of use.” _ And it’ll be warm and more comfortable than the caves, _ he adds mentally.

Charles agrees at once, looking immensely relieved. “Yes, that’s a good idea. If there’s nothing, we can still go on, and keep looking, but for now…” He swallows. “I think a few days rest would do us both good.”

 

They inspect all the cabins before they settle for one which seems more intact than the others. Its door hangs firmly in its hinges for one, and none the window panes are broken. Nevertheless it’s a mess, with chairs, pots, pans and cutlery scattered over the floor and dust everywhere they look and touch. They clean away the things lying around at first, to be able to have a proper look around.

The cabin is small, not more than one room, one part of it obscured by a sheet, behind which there is a tiny bathtub made of brass, not far from the cast iron oven, on which the inhabitants obviously also used to cook, as there is no separate cooker. They’ve pushed the small wooden table with three chairs to one side of the room, right next to a cabinet holding pots, pans, cutlery and a few other simple kitchen utensils. A single bed with a mattress filled with something like straw, as well as a woolen blanket draped over it, is lined against another wall. That’s it. No toilet, but that’s just unnecessary luxury. They’ve been going into the woods for the past days, they can keep doing so.

It’s very modest, yet it feels almost like a palace to Erik, after their days of sleeping crammed together in tiny holes in the rock.

And there’s a tub. They’ll be able to wash. It hasn’t been that long, but nevertheless Erik feels he’s never been as filthy in his life.

They go out again, splitting up to explore the rest of the cabins to see if there’s anything that could be of use. 

Erik finds a razor (its blade is blunt but he’s sure he can fix that), a couple of candles, some toothpaste and even a box of wash utensils—soap, a washcloth, and a couple of worn towels, as well as several toothbrushes, some of which look new and unused. The box feels like treasure in his hands as he carries it back to their cabin.

And it gets better—Charles turns up seconds later with a triumphant smile on his face, dragging a large basket filled to the brim with dry firewood as well as several matches and firelighters.

Erik’s heart leaps at the sight.

“And there’s a stock of tins and jars—though we’ll have to see if the food is still edible—and also a weird tiny cabin without windows, but it’s blocked. I couldn’t get inside,” Charles wheezes as soon as he’s lugged the basket all the way to the oven. “Maybe you could try? Perhaps it’s just the lock.”

Intrigued, his heart lighter than it’s been in ages, Erik steps outside while Charles busies himself with the oven. Charles’ description leads him right to the cabin in question, which is indeed a lot smaller than the others—perhaps five by five feet—and completely windowless.

_ A toilet after all, _ Erik thinks, but then he considers that it would make sense to provide a toilet with some kind of opening for fresh air, and there is absolutely none. 

Erik is surprised when his senses tell him that there’s metal behind the wall, a lot of it in fact. Even more intrigued, he melts the rusty lock with a flick of his wrist, and opens the door. It’s completely dark inside, but the little light that seeps through the door is enough to show him what’s behind it.

“Charles,” he says weakly, and then more forcefully. “Charles! Come here, quick!”

Charles is there within an instant, gasping for breath, and looking at Erik in a mild panic.

“What is it? Are you—oh.”

The last sound is more like a release of breath.

They both stare into the cabin, transfixed.

“Looks like this village isn’t so simple after all,” Charles breathes out.

Erik lets out a tiny laugh. It’s the happiest sound he’s heard escape his own mouth in about fourteen years. The realisation shocks him a little.

“Do you think it’ll still work?” asks Charles, turning to face Erik, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

“I don’t see any reason why not,” Erik replies. “I don’t sense any burnt through or broken wires. And there’s fuel,” he adds, pointing at a couple of canisters in the corner.

“Shall we try it? Now?” Charles asks, excitement shining in his face. 

How can someone look so ridiculously happy in their situation? And yet Erik feels Charles’ enthusiasm affect him in spite of himself. He smiles too, though mostly to himself.

“Alright.”

It takes almost no time at all to get the small generator running. As soon as it starts grumbling, Charles attempts to switch on the desk lamp, and it works at once. The trickiest bit is figuring out how to work the telegraph, but since it’s not that much different from the ones used in modern shuttles, they soon have it beeping softly in regular intervals, a tiny red light flashing in time with the sound.

“What do you think is its range?” Charles asks, as they take a step back to admire the beeping apparatus.

“I don’t really know,” admits Erik. “The ones in the shuttles are usually strong enough to stay in contact with a ship somewhere in the planet’s orbit, but I don’t know about this one. I doubt we could reach a ship passing in further distance though.”

It’s not a definite solution to their problems, especially since the fuel won’t last forever, but it’s a chance at least. While it’s working, the transceiver should pick up on any ships or shuttles passing them in a closer distance, and by pushing a few buttons, Erik’s ensured that they’ll be notified if that is the case.

It’s all they can do for now, but nevertheless they stand there, just staring at the machine for quite a while after they got it to work, as though waiting for something to happen.

“Let’s go,” says Erik after what feels like at least ten minutes, taking Charles’ arm. “It’ll keep sending and receiving even while we’re gone.”

Charles follows him only reluctantly.

The small fire Charles managed to start has gone out again of course, but it doesn’t take them long to start another one. As so often, Erik only notices how cold he was as the warmth starts to spread through his bones.

They collect some snow to drink, and a lot more to fill the bathtub, which they put on the hot oven to warm up.

The hot bath feels like the greatest luxury to Erik, warming him more completely than the fire alone could ever do, the soap scrubbing away the dirt and sweat making him feel as though he’s reborn. He can hardly bring himself to get out again to make room for Charles who must be waiting for his turn.

They wrap themselves in a blanket each afterwards, and Charles volunteers to wash their clothes, while Erik sharpens the razor and then uses it to shave his face carefully, leaving it lying on the table for Charles to use afterwards.

Erik could almost forget about the last few day’s exertion if it weren’t for the sight of Charles’ blistered and bloodied feet sticking out from under his blanket. But they’ll heal. Charles won’t have to do any walking soon. This village is probably their best shot at making contact with any humans anywhere close by.

 

The telegraph stays silent over the following days.

Erik can tell that Charles is itching to go back to it, just to stare at the machine and will it to show some sign of having sensed a ship somewhere close. Erik feels the same restlessness, though he of course has the luxury of being able to reach out with his powers to make sure the machine is still running and that they haven’t missed anything.

Apart from the tension regarding the transceiver, they manage to settle into their new situation almost easily.

There’s a tiny moment of uncertainty the first night, when it’s time to go to sleep. Theoretically they both know that there’s enough space for both of them to have their own cabin, or at least to sleep separately, since there are enough blankets, and they won’t be in danger of freezing. However, it doesn’t seem fair to either of them that one would take the bed and the other would have to sleep on the floor, or to send one of them to a cabin that isn’t yet tidied up and warm, and so they end up lying back to back on the small bed again, while Erik tries to tell himself that this is only practical, and that his relief at the decision has nothing to do with him craving to have Charles close by.

They could start tidying and heating up another cabin the next day, but for some reason neither of them mentions it again, and so they stay just as they are.

There’s no reason to discuss a situation if both parties are satisfied with it, is there?

They settle into a routine of going outside to get snow or collect firewood, preparing food, washing up and cleaning the cabin until it looks almost homely. After only three days it feels as though they’ve been living there for a long time, and Erik finds himself contemplating the possibility of them never being found with a lot less panic than before.

In the next moment, he shakes his head angrily. They have to get away from here. Or at least, he has to. He’s got a job to do, and he can’t forget about it just because he’s settling into an elusively comfortable life with the goddamn  _ Crown Prince _ of the Empire.

What has happened to him? 

In the evenings they sit together and either talk or just stare at the fire in comfortable silence. Charles tells Erik more about the palace, and about Raven, who Erik—in spite of his determination to hate everyone royal—can’t help but like. Her mutation at least sounds fascinating, though according to Charles she’s mostly forced to just use it to assume a form other than her natural appearance, which again makes Erik angrier than it should in light of the fact that Raven is Marko’s daughter.

Erik talks about his family too, but only about the time before Marko became Emperor. The way Charles smiles and his eyes light up when Erik speaks of his parents almost make up for the pain he feels as he digs up the memories so deeply buried inside him. 

He never mentions Shaw, however. He can’t risk Charles guessing Erik’s plan to kill the man. Charles is so utterly good a person that it astonishes Erik because he never thought it even possible. He is too good really because it means he’s naive in the way he approaches people, as could be seen in the example of Kurt Marko. Charles has to see the good in people, even if there isn’t any. It has been exploited several times already, and almost killed them both.

No, Erik doesn’t believe Charles would approve of Erik’s hatred. Perhaps he doesn’t even know what it’s like to hate somebody in his inherent trustfulness and goodness.

This should be annoying and frustrating to Erik. It should make him want to sneer at Charles and prove to him what the universe, what the people in it are really like.

But it doesn’t. On the contrary. It warms him from the inside, and though the hatred for Shaw and Marko doesn’t go away, it awakens other emotions in him that he thought lost.

And that’s dangerous.

Erik gets prove of that danger on their fourth day in the cabin.

Charles has gone outside to empty his bladder, while Erik stays in the hut, cleaning their simple dishes in the bathtub, when he hears a scream of terror.

He’s on his feet at once, soapy water dripping from his hands.

“Charles?” he calls, panic rising in his chest, his heart racing.

Another scream.

Without thinking Erik is outside, running in the direction of the sound. 

He spots Charles almost as soon as he’s left the village behind, lying on his back in the snow, kicking out desperately at some monstrous leathery creature, clawing at him, hissing, large and sharp teeth exposed.

Almost automatically, Erik reaches in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the dart he formed all those days ago. With a flick of his hand the dart shoots at the creature, hitting it in the neck.

It shrieks and jumps back about two feet, away from Charles. Dark blood drips down it’s pale, leathery flank. 

Erik pulls the dart out again, making it whirl back to him, then shoots a second time, hitting the creature in the back.

Another shriek, another hiss, and it turns around and flees, but not before Erik has pulled out and retrieved his weapon.

“Charles,” he whispers, hurrying towards the Prince now trying to sit up in the snow. 

The snow is red, far too red, which means blood, and that can’t—

“Erik,” Charles gasps. He’s pale, even more so than usual, but at least he’s conscious. “Thank god you’re here. I thought—” He swallows. He’s trembling all over.

Erik can’t think straight, his thoughts tumbling over one another. But he can’t let his panic get the better of him. He has to focus. He needs to do something. He needs to make sure Charles will be okay.

“Are you alright? You’re bleeding! Where is the wound? We need to clean it, and stop the bleeding, and—”

“I’m okay. I think.” 

Charles puts a shaking hand on Erik’s chest in an apparent effort to calm them both.

It works, at least somewhat. Erik takes a deep breath, but he can’t suppress the trembling in his hands, much less steady now that he’s not fighting anymore. He thought he’d lose Charles for a second, and it was—

“Let’s get you inside,” Erik mutters, his voice betraying the terror still present inside him.

There’s a big gash in Charles’ thigh, and another one on his forearm, but nothing too deep, nothing life-threatening, thankfully—as long as they can prevent an infection at least.

Back in the cabin Erik cleans the wounds thoroughly with the disinfectant, while Charles grits his teeth against the pain, then Erik dresses them carefully in a bandage.

“Thank you,” says Charles afterwards, rather quietly. “You’ve saved my life. Again.”

Erik doesn’t know what to say. He finds it hard to look at Charles, the shock and panic at the sight of Charles lying there, helpless, under attack, about to be ripped apart still not quite gone. He was sure for a moment that he was going to lose him, that once more he’d have to stand by and watch someone being killed. Someone who matters.

“Don’t mention it,” he croaks after a moment. “You’d have done the same for me.” And he knows it’s true.

“Yes, I would,” says Charles. Then he laughs softly. “But I’m not as skilled with a metal dart.”

Erik can’t help but smile at that.

“What was that though?” Charles asks after another moment. “That animal. It kind of reminded me of a wolf, but then again it was nothing like one.” He sounds more fascinated than scared now. 

“I don’t know.” Erik shudders even at the memory, though not of the thing itself, but the way it was clawing at Charles, trying to get close enough to sink it’s sharp teeth into him, into his neck, and—

Erik swallows. He needs to stop thinking about this. Charles is safe. He’ll be fine. Erik will make sure the wound won’t cause any problems, and he’ll also make sure none of these damned creatures will ever come close to him again.

“Don’t go that far into the forest again,” Erik says. He’s uncomfortably aware that he sounds like his mother telling him not to wander off. “And take a torch next time, or something else to keep them away.”

There’s a tiny smile on Charles’ lips as he says, “Okay.”

 

That night Erik doesn’t fall asleep with his back turned on Charles. He lies awake for a long time after Charles has already dozed off, staring at the shock of soft brown hair sticking out from under the blanket.

He still can’t get that moment out of his head, the sight of Charles only seconds away from being torn to pieces. It’s as though the image has burnt itself onto Erik’s retina, determined to remind him of exactly what he has to lose.

And he shouldn’t have anything to lose. That was always his biggest strength, not having anything to lose. He never cared much about his own well-being, always accepted that he might have to die in order to kill Shaw. The idea never bothered him. He only had one goal, and nothing to tie him to life once he’d achieved it. He can’t be reckless and audacious if he has a reason to want to stay alive, and even less if he has someone he doesn’t want to get hurt.

Erik closes his eyes, grinding his teeth in order to hold back a frustrated moan.

How could he have let that happen? How could he have allowed himself to care about Charles enough that the idea of losing him fills him with paralysing fear?

He can’t let it continue, he can’t. If this goes any further (and it might, all the signs are there) he’ll put everything he’s worked for, everything he still  _ lives _ for in even greater danger than it already is.

He can never forget his real purpose in life. He can’t forget about Shaw, not as long as the bastard is still alive and walking free.

With all the brutality of his mind Erik forces himself to remember that day fourteen years ago, the screams, the look of terror on his mother’s face because she thought they’d kill him too, the smell of burnt flesh, the children’s sobs. Shaw’s hand patting his hair.

The pain is still there, threatening to consume him whole, and so is the anger, the hatred, the thirst for revenge. Good. He needs it to goad him on. He can never forget.

And yet, there’s another thought, creeping in alongside the memories, unbidden.

_ Not Charles too. _ The image of Charles in danger, about to be killed, the panic that Erik might lose him. 

And another image, or rather, a fantasy. Charles wrapping his arms around Erik, Erik burying his face into Charles’ warm bare chest, breathing him in, feeling safe there, secure,  _ happy.  _ Charles’ fingers carding tenderly through Erik’s hair.

Erik turns his head, pressing his face into the firm mattress, trying very hard not to make a sound.

He can’t think like that. He doesn’t even know whether what he’s daydreaming about is possible at all. He may care deeply about Charles, against his own instincts, but he doesn’t know anything about Charles’ feelings in return. Charles is friendly enough, perhaps he even likes him, but that doesn’t mean anything. Them sticking together, looking after one another, staying close to each other is a necessity after all. And besides, Charles is the  _ Crown Prince. _ They can’t stay here forever. At some point they’ll either die or leave this planet, and if they do, everything will be different again.

Erik gives himself a mental slap on the head.

Why is he even thinking about this? He has to stop. This is leading nowhere, and it certainly won’t help him achieve his goal, which is the only thing that matters. The only fucking thing.

Only, he’s not so sure whether that’s true anymore.


	8. 1.8 Charles

Luckily Charles’ wounds heal well, and — though walking is slightly painful for a few days —hardly limit Charles’ ability to move around the cabin and care for himself. Everything else would have made him highly uncomfortable.

Every morning, Erik sits down next to him on the bed to remove the bandage from the wound on Charles’ forearm, clean the wound, and dress it again, before he sinks down on his knees in front of the bed and does the same to the wound on Charles’ thigh.

After two days it hardly hurts anymore, and Charles finds himself zooming in on the other sensations accompanying the act. Erik’s fingers gently touching his skin, Erik’s thumb brushing along a particularly sensitive patch on the inside of Charles’ thigh, making Charles surreptitiously put his hands over the blanket covering his crotch, though he’d much rather sink his fingers into Erik’s auburn hair, or draw them softly along his cheek, and over his lip.

Charles tries to tell himself that this is just a simple and automatic physical reaction to being touched tenderly, born of the fact that he hasn’t had the chance to masturbate in a while, not had sex for a much longer time, and spends so much time in close proximity to a man who might just as well be a greek statue come to life. Though he can hardly make himself believe that this also accounts for the way his heart skips a beat whenever he manages to tease a smile out of the otherwise always serious, almost cool man, or the way it races when Erik’s usually unreadable, closed expression changes to one of warmth.

And that seems to happen more often with each passing day.

They’ve definitely become closer since the day they talked about mutant suppression on Earth, and the hostility has vanished almost completely, allowing them to spend their time in pleasant conversation or comfortable silence, which is so much more than Charles dared to hope for at first. Despite all his coldness and caginess, there is real warmth in Erik too, warmth he doesn’t let show very often, but increasingly with each passing day. And Erik isn’t as indifferent as he first seemed either. Something about him, about his attitude has changed. He really cares, as became apparent when Charles was attacked.

Charles has changed too, though he only realises that in retrospect. Only a few days earlier he would have pushed Erik away, when he tried to help him and half-carried him back to the cabin after the attack. He would have hated his own helplessness and Erik’s concern. It would have made him feel weak and pitiable, and he wouldn’t have been able to stand it.

Now...it doesn’t feel like that anymore for some strange reason. Erik’s concern is nothing like the way Kurt or Shaw, or any of their men looked at him. It’s not degrading, there’s no judgement in it. And so it rather warms Charles from the inside than annoys him. It doesn’t make him feel small, only...cared for.

If that makes sense. But does anything anyway?

It’s confusing. There’s more warmth in Erik’s actions and in the way he sometimes looks at Charles than Charles has ever seen in anyone else before. Not even Raven, or Logan, or his father.

Shouldn’t that mean something? Shouldn’t they act on it?

However, whenever Charles allows himself to give in to the fluttering in his stomach and smile warmly back at Erik, the other man nearly always turns away almost at once, suddenly busy doing something else, leaving Charles slightly crushed and even more confused. It seems as though there’s more he doesn’t understand. He must be reading Erik wrong—not a surprise since he finds reading people extremely hard without his telepathy. Erik clearly doesn’t want the same thing, and so Charles tries very hard to suppress any kind of thought leading him into a direction that might—if he’s not careful—ruin everything between them.

And that’s the last thing he wants, because he really needs Erik by his side.

Erik is fascinating in many ways—not only his mutation—clever, determined, and—if he allows it—witty. Though Charles only now starts to appreciate all those new, wonderful facettes of Erik’s personality, he remembers already feeling something of that fascination the first time he saw Erik—back when he still believed Erik’s name to be Max Eisenhardt. 

For some reason not even that lie bothers Charles anymore. Erik quite obviously had a reason to mistrust Kurt, and, by extension, Charles.

The fascination has definitely grown into something deeper and stronger by now, which is no surprise given that they spend so much time together. Nevertheless it’s unwise, that kind of trust is always unwise, since Charles can never be sure whether any friendliness or warmth is actually real or only feigned, without his telepathy.

Is Erik just trying to curry favour with Charles, like so many others have before, because he’s started to believe that Charles could be useful after all? For some reason, Charles doesn’t believe so. Erik seems so...real, not as fake as the people Charles usually has to deal with.

And does it really matter in the end? Not as long as Charles manages to see nothing but a friend and a companion in Erik. Not as long as he succeeds in keeping his desires and hopes buried inside himself. Because Erik is definitely good company now that he doesn’t yell or stare daggers at Charles anymore. Not to mention that he’s a marvelous distraction, and almost makes Charles forget the hopelessness of their situation.

Almost.

It’s mostly at night that Charles remembers Raven again, and Logan, probably unaware that he’s still alive. What will Kurt do to them once they get back to Earth? Before the crash Charles wouldn’t have thought for a moment that Kurt would hurt Raven, but with everything Erik told him about the mistreatment of mutants under Kurt’s reign, he could almost believe anything of the man now. But why should Kurt have bothered to keep her alive if he’d wanted to harm her? Raven must be alive and well. She simply must be.

And Logan? Logan is loyal to Charles, and Kurt knows that as well as him. But Logan doesn’t know that Kurt had a hand in his death, does he? Or has he perhaps worked out that that’s why he was kept on Earth, kept away from Charles? If he does, if he confronts Kurt about his role in Charles’ ostensible death, Logan will be in grave danger. But then, what does grave danger even mean in Logan’s case? His mutation keeps him from being killed.

Though they’ve never tried the serum on him. What if Kurt has him injected with the serum and it makes him mortal?

Charles tries very hard not to panic as he considers this possibility.

Perhaps it won’t work on Logan, even if they try. The serum doesn’t work on every mutation after all, though Hank doesn’t understand why yet. It worked on him, and on Charles, but it didn’t work on Raven for instance. So perhaps Logan will still be safe.

Charles suppresses a sob.

If only he’d been less naive, if only he hadn’t believed Shaw, hadn’t allowed him to lead him into a trap, none of this would have happened. Charles would be on his way back to Earth now, he’d soon be crowned Emperor, and he’d be able to put everything right that Kurt did to all those people, all his fellow mutants.

Only, he’d never have gotten to know Erik, would he? He wouldn’t have learnt what Erik told him. He might have acted unwisely as Emperor—or not done anything at all in his eagerness to get rid of the job again—since he wouldn’t have known the whole truth about the state of his Empire and the people within it. And Erik might have continued to hate him along with Kurt. And he would have been right to do so.

Erik doesn’t hate him anymore, as far as Charles can tell without his telepathy. He’s cold sometimes, inscrutable, but there’s no hate anymore, and that, in itself, is a wonderful gift.

The way Erik tends to Charles’ wounds, the gentleness of his fingers, the concern, is more than Charles would have ever expected. It’s as though there is more to it, more to Erik, more to  _ them. _

His heart squeezes at the thought, not a completely alien sensation, but nevertheless an unexpected one. Is it natural to feel like that if you’re so entirely dependent on a person? Is it to be expected that his heart races when Erik is close, that he so wants to touch him, put his hand on his face. Isn’t that simply the natural need for human contact, and with Erik the only other person around, isn’t it completely natural for Charles to feel some kind of fondness for the man?

But is it really mere fondness he feels? He’s fond of Raven, and of Logan—he could even say he loves them in a non-romantic way—and he loved his father, though he can hardly remember it, and even felt a kind of painful love for his mother. None of them ever made his heart lurch or squeeze like that though, none of them made his pulse race. He’s never experienced these kinds of feelings for any other person before.

He has, of course, felt arousal before, felt his blood stream downwards, filling out his cock, felt the desperate need to touch and be touched. He’s not a virgin after all. But still—not in combination with a lurch of his heart, not in combination with this wave of warmth and affection. He’s never wanted to hold, kiss, and breathe in another person, another man, and simultaneously ached to rip their clothes off of their body to finally  _ touch, _ and feel the firmness beneath.

Is this love? Is this just a natural reaction to the solitude or is he truly in love for the first time in his life?

But Charles can’t think like that, because it could destroy everything. They need to get along after all, they don’t need awkwardness between them, or resentment. Right now they’re as close to being friends as they’ll probably ever be, and Charles can’t jeopardise that by foolishly giving in to his desires, when it’s so likely that none of it will be reciprocated.

Why can’t he just be happy with what he has? A good, mostly pleasant companion and friend, someone who is by his side all the time and cares about him. Not being alone, it’s as good as it gets in a situation as theirs. He needs Erik, he can’t lose him by acting like some besotted teenager.

 

Three days after his run-in with the wolvish creature, Charles volunteers to collect firewood for the first time, but Erik is having none of it.

“You’re not going that far into the forest alone. You have nothing to protect yourself with, and you’re still limping.”

Charles can’t quite suppress the rush of warmth he feels at Erik’s obvious concern. Nevertheless he needs Erik to know how serious he is about this.

“I feel useless sitting around in here,” he says. “Let me help, please.”

“It’s not safe. Your wound—”

“—hardly hurts anymore,” Charles interrupts him, though his voice is soft. “Due to your great care. But now I need to get out again. Please, Erik.”

Erik hasn’t allowed him to walk further than five yards from the cabin all those last days, not even to relieve himself. It wasn’t at all comfortable doing it in plain sight of the hut.

Erik stares at the floorboards. It looks like he’s struggling with himself. Hard.

“Fine,” he says after a moment. “But we’ll go together, and you have to promise me not to go astray.”

Charles smiles softly. Impossible not to. “I won’t. I promise.”

There are not that many dry places in the forest around the village, which is why they collect their firewood in advance, to be able for it to dry for a few days. The area that Erik used to roam for firewood has been almost entirely grazed, and so Erik walks in another direction, slowly, in order to make sure Charles can keep up with him.

“I think it’s best if we split up here,” Erik says hesitantly after they’ve been walking for about two minutes, the village no longer visible behind them. “That way we’ll be quicker. But don’t go anywhere out of sight or earshot,” he adds warningly.

It’s hard to find larger logs in the snow that haven’t been completely soaked through. Charles walks around aimlessly, his teeth already chattering again from the cold against which the thin fabric of his ripped suit provides hardly any protection. He uses his once more wet shoes to push the snow aside, trying to find logs that might not be completely rotten and will therefore burn for a while. He finds some, but not a lot, and can only hope that Erik’s search is more successful. Perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea after all.

Charles has his eyes so firmly fixed on his feet that he only notices at the very last moment that he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, about to step over it.

Gasping, he takes a quick step back, his heart hammering in his chest.

That was too damned close. He needs to be more vigilant, or Erik will have to save him a third time—or retrieve his lifeless body.

Taking a deep breath, Charles carefully leans forward again to peer over the edge.

It’s no wonder really that he didn’t see it before. The gorge is filled with snow, with a few dead branches sticking out—just like the ground around it—and is therefore extremely hard to spot. It isn’t that deep though—definitely not more than eight feet—so he might even have survived the fall if he’d dropped into it. It’s a hole, Charles realises, and not even that large of a hole, perhaps about two hundred square feet. 

Something about it is weird. It doesn’t look natural for some reason, too...rectangular. 

Charles sinks to his knees, leaning over the edge and trailing his hand along the steep wall. The soil feels even under his fingers, and firm, not at all as though a natural landslip might have occured. It seems as though this hole was created by humans, using some kind of shovel.

Charles jumps to his feet. “Erik!”

Within seconds Erik comes running, the dart in his hand, dropping the wood he was carrying to the ground, pale-faced and looking alarmed—no, terrified actually. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Charles hurries to reassure him. He shouldn’t have yelled like that. “Look at this hole. It must have been human-made, don’t you think?”

He turns to Erik to see him grow even paler.

“Erik, are you alright?”

Erik doesn’t respond, but takes a tentative step forward, peering over the edge too, his hands outstretched in a way that Charles recognises as him sensing any metal around.

“Erik?” Charles asks again.

Erik looks troubled, even scared, and it’s terrifying to watch. What is Erik sensing?

“Charles,” Erik croaks after a moment. “There are people in there.”

“What?” Charles’ heart skips a beat. “But how do you—?”

“The eyelets on their shoes, belt clasps, earrings, bracelets and gold fillings,” Erik whispers.

Charles hasn’t seen Erik look so pale since the moment he came running up to Charles right after he’d chased away the creature that attacked him.

Charles peers over the edge again. There’s a lot of snow, covering whatever may lie on the bottom of the hole, but also—could that be the sole of a boot? At least there’s something dark sticking out at the very edge, and then there are what Charles thought to be dead branches. But they’re too light for that, aren’t they? A lot lighter than all the wood lying around them. Does that mean they’re actually—

Charles grasps Erik’s arm to steady himself.

Bones. They’re bones. Human bones if Erik’s right, and why shouldn’t he be? 

Even though Charles wants to look away, his eyes are drawn back to the snow-covered ground. Is that a skull? It’s almost as white as the snow around it.

“The people from the village,” Charles hears himself mutter.

Who else could they be?

“Do you think this was their graveyard?” he goes on, his voice trembling slightly. “If so, why didn’t they cover the bodies? They can’t have wanted any animals to get to them. And the smell must have been...”

Erik shakes his head. His expression is frozen, his eyes fixed on the bodies hidden in the snow. He looks as though he might be sick at any moment.

“They didn’t die of natural causes.”

“What do you mean? Erik?”

Almost without thinking Charles lifts his hand to Erik’s face, stroking his thumb softly over the other man’s cheek.

Erik blinks and turns to look at him. He appears to come back from a place far away.

“There are bullets everywhere. In their skulls. In between their ribs, and—” Erik swallows, shivering, tears shimmering in his eyes. “There are bullet casings right under our feet.”

Charles jumps back a foot as though hit by an electric surge.

Erik sinks to his knees, pushing the snow aside with trembling fingers. 

Sure enough, there are bullet casings scattered over the forest ground, dozens of them.

Charles’ heart skips a beat.  “They were shot?” he whispers. “Here?”

Erik’s jaw is set. He’s grinding his teeth in an obvious effort to hold back more tears. “It was an execution,” he forces out, his voice shaking. “They must have stood right where we are when they were shot. One by one.”

It’s as though the lightness of the day has grown dimmer all of a sudden. Charles remembers the eeriness of the desolate village, the silence as they first stepped into its square. They had no idea then that its inhabitants were so close by, but dead. Killed for some reason. Executed, as Erik had put it.

What for though? And by whom? And where are their killers now?

Erik hasn’t moved from where he’s kneeling on the ground, his jaw still set, his eyes closed as though in silent prayer.

“Erik?” Charles asks quietly, tentatively.

After a moment Erik opens his eyes again, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he just stares over the edge into the hole for a few more moments, then gets up, turns around and starts walking back in the direction of the village without looking back, Charles on his heels, scooping up the wood that Erik dropped earlier.

 

Erik is completely silent for the rest of the day, hardly looking at Charles, his eyes clouded, as though seeing things that are inside his mind rather than in front of him.

Charles doesn’t disturb him, determined to give his friend the space he needs, though he tries to keep an eye on him nevertheless. He’s never seen Erik like that. It’s unnerving and it makes Charles’ insides twist painfully. It looks as though the sight or sensation of the dead bodies in their mass grave awoke demons inside Erik that he never let show before.

What kinds of demons are they? Who’s responsible for them?

Charles knows that Erik didn’t have an easy life, though he doesn’t know any details. Erik’s a mutant after all, and—as Charles learnt from Erik himself—mutants in general are discriminated against and persecuted in the Empire.

What happened to Erik specifically? Was he mistreated, apart from the fact they burnt a mark into his wrist? Abused perhaps? Why did the sight of people having been shot affect him like that? Has he seen horrors like this before? What happened to his family? He told Charles wonderful stories about his parents, but nevertheless from the way he talked about them it seemed as though they were no longer alive. What kinds of horrors lie in Erik’s past? And what can Charles do to help?

Because he doesn’t want to push Erik, since he knows how difficult dealing with terrible, traumatic memories can be, Charles just waits for Erik to speak again. If he needs to talk he will, Charles tells himself, determined not to force Erik to do or speak about anything that makes him uncomfortable. Nevertheless he finds watching Erik’s silent struggle hard to bear. He’s never been great at watching people suffer and not doing anything about it. 

If only he had his telepathy, he could help Erik, soothe him, guide him in his thoughts and sorrow.

Though Erik would probably think of it as an intrusion, and get angry anyway, perhaps even aggressive. Nobody’s ever trusted Charles enough to let him into their mind like that after all, not even to comfort or soothe,even though Charles knew he could help. So why should Erik? Even suggesting it would probably destroy everything there might ever have been between them, any grain of trust. Hasn’t it always been like that? With Raven and Logan at least, Charles feels they only really started to trust him and relax around him after he started taking the serum. So perhaps it’s a good thing that his telepathy isn’t another problem, another trust issue him and Erik have to deal with.

However, eventually, there won’t be any getting around it, will there? 

There are only eight doses of serum left after all—fifteen days of walking and without his telepathy. Fifteen days until Erik will inevitably find out about Charles’ biggest secret—his two biggest secrets. Fifteen days until Charles will have to deal with migraines, and the pressure of Erik’s thoughts and emotions until he’s gained enough control over his mind to blank them out again. Fifteen days until Erik will look at him as though he’s someone dangerous. Fifteen days until Charles won’t be able to care for himself like he used to and will therefore be completely dependent upon Erik and his good will.

He doesn’t want to think about it. He can’t. Not now.

 

That same evening they end up sitting in front of the oven as usual, each of them a blanket over their shoulders, listening to the crackling of the flames and feeling the warmth on their faces.

They don’t speak, they don’t even look at each other, but after a while Charles thinks he hears a strange melodic sound. He looks at Erik, and finds him staring into the flames through the small and dirty window in the oven. His lips are slightly parted, moving almost imperceptibly, half-singing, half-humming a simple but calming melody that Charles doesn’t recognise.

Not wanting to disturb Erik, Charles turns towards the oven too, closing his eyes, simply listening to the soft sound of Erik’s voice.

As it dies away, Charles dares to speak for the first time since they returned to their cabin.

“What was that song?”

Erik blinks, slowly turning to look at Charles, as though he only just realised that he’s there.

“ _ ‘Wer hat die schönsten Schäfchen’ _ —a German lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was little,” Erik replies. “I don’t even know where it came from. It just popped into my head.”

“Oh, you speak German.” Charles smiles. “I know some German, but not a lot. Could you sing the song again? So I can hear the words?”

For a moment it looks as though Erik is going to refuse, but then he nods, his eyes drawn back to the flames. “If you want.”

He sings again, more loudly and clearly than before, and this time Charles recognises the language, usually so harsh and guttural, but now soft and warm, Erik’s voice a soft caress on Charles’ ears and skin in the midst of all the roughness of their cabin.

“I understood some words,” Charles says with a smile after Erik has finished.  _ “Mond _ and  _ Himmel _ and  _ Sterne _ ...it’s beautiful, Erik. And quite fitting too.”

They fall silent for a moment, both staring into the flames.

“My mother used to sing this every evening,” says Erik then. His voice is trembling a little, but his face doesn’t betray any emotions. “Sometimes I made her sing it several times.”

Charles smiles. The image is heart-warming.

“It’s weird how you forget so much, but these things never disappear,” Erik goes on. “Isn’t it?”

“I suppose…” Charles murmurs, but then he shrugs. “I don’t remember any lullabies. I don’t think anyone’s ever sung to me.”

Erik looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Not even your mother?”

The smile on Charles’ face feels painful. “My mother wasn’t very interested in those kinds of things. I had nursemaids for that, but…” Charles sighs. “My mother always had them replaced after only a few weeks.”

“Why?”

“She was jealous of them. She didn’t want me to build a relationship with any other woman that was closer than the one between me and her. Which wasn’t close at all.”

The look on Erik’s face can only be described as one of disgust. “And she told you that?”

Charles laughs humourlessly. “Oh no, we rarely ever talked.”

He realises his mistake only when Erik’s disgusted expression switches to one of confusion.

“But how do you know that that’s why she did it? If she didn’t tell you—”

“I don’t know,” Charles says quickly. “I just...guessed.”

He can feel the heat creep up his neck again. Hopefully it’s too dark for Erik to notice anything. What a stupid mistake to make. He really needs to be more careful.

Though he knows he’ll have to tell Erik eventually. But not yet.

“So you never really had...a mother?” Erik asks quietly.

Charles has never looked at it that way.

“Biologically yes,” he replies, attempting to smile. “Emotionally...perhaps not.”

There’s a frown on Erik’s face. He looks thoughtful. “I’m sorry,” he says after another moment. “That must have been tough.” Erik’s voice is gruff, but he nevertheless sounds earnest. 

Charles has trouble hiding his surprise. Erik, sorry for what happened to  _ Charles?  _ Yes, Charles desperately wanted his mother to be more affectionate when he was little, and he felt lonely a lot, but in light of the difficulties Erik must have been through just because he was born a mutant, as well as Erik’s anger which speaks of even more pain so far still hidden, Charles’ sorrows seem hardly worth mentioning.

Maybe Charles is reading him wrong, and he’s actually mocking him after all?

“Your mother sounds wonderful though,” Charles says tentatively. “What happened to her?”

Erik hesitates for a tiny moment. “She was killed,” he says then.

A cold hand has grabbed hold of Charles’ heart. He was right then. There are horrors in Erik’s past that he hasn’t yet revealed. And even though Erik speaks so matter-of-factly, the pain is evident in his eyes. Charles so wishes he could help him carry it. 

But he can’t. All he can offer are empty words. Again.

“I’m so sorry, Erik,” Charles says quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Another pause. 

“No, I don’t think so…”

There’s no rejection in Erik’s voice, no anger or annoyance. In fact, it sounds as though he’s seriously considering the offer, as though he even wants to deep down, but doesn’t find the strength. At least not yet.

 

That night is the first night that Charles doesn’t turn his back on Erik. He tries, but he finds that he can’t for some reason, and so he turns around again, only to find Erik facing him already, his face barely visible in the dim light cast by the oven, but his eyes definitely open.

They look at each other for a moment, and Charles is about to open his mouth to say something—what, he doesn’t really know—when Erik speaks.

“Good night, Charles,” he says softly.

“Good night, Erik,” Charles whispers back. 

 

Something changes between them after that night, something big, that nevertheless isn’t palpable during the days, when they go about their business as before, collecting firewood and snow, eating tinned food, drinking hot water, washing, shaving, but mostly waiting for a sound from the telegraph a few huts down.

Every evening, as soon as the candles are extinguished and they’ve clambered into bed in almost complete darkness, something shifts between them, as if they’re stepping into another world, a parallel universe, where everything is much more straightforward. They don’t sleep with their backs turned anymore, both now silently acknowledging the need for physical closeness. Sometimes Charles even dares to drape an arm over Erik’s torso—loosely, not wanting to pressure him into anything—and sometimes Erik does the same to him. There are those nights that Charles ends up burying his face into Erik’s chest, without the other man drawing back, Erik’s smell another sensuous reminder that Charles isn’t alone, or those nights that their hands seem to find one another, not gripping tightly, just fingers covering each other softly.

_ This is okay, _ Charles keeps telling himself, whenever the rational part of his mind awakens and panics slightly at the almost-intimacy of the moment.  _ Humans need touch and closeness, or we go mad. That’s all there is to it. _

Or at least that’s probably true for Erik. It’s born of the situation, and it doesn’t mean anything, does it?

And if it does—there’s nothing wrong with it. Can’t they just...allow it to happen? There’s nobody to judge them anywhere near after all. Except maybe...Erik himself.

Sometimes, during the day, when Charles sees things more clearly and rationally, it scares him. A lot. Especially when he realises that, apart from his longing for emotional closeness with Erik, which could perhaps be satisfied by what they have already, his physical attraction starts to assume rather alarming proportions.

He’s known for a long time that female bodies don’t attract him like male bodies do. He confided himself in Raven several years ago. She didn’t mind in the slightest and told him she supported him no matter what. Same with Logan, who Charles found out ‘swings both ways’ on that occasion. They even slept together a few times, when Charles was desperately lonely and sometimes drunk, even though those incidents always made for rather awkward mornings. 

Opportunities for sex—already rather limited for a Crown Prince, since he’s in constant need to watch his reputation—were even more scarce due to Charles’ preferences. Usually those needs would seen to by one of the many prostitutes living in the palace, waiting to be called to the bed chambers. Charles knew this even before he was told because he sensed their minds several times. (There’s even this one particular memory of him inadvertently slipping into one girl’s mind for a few seconds as she was having sex with Kurt, which Charles keeps trying very hard to forget about) All of them are women, however, and—since Kurt outlawed homosexual intercourse shortly after he took office—Charles could never request a male companion for himself. 

Though he’s not sure he would have done it anyway. He doesn’t like the idea of someone being paid to have sex with him. He knows what it’s like to talk to a person who pretends to like him, while their mind tells him a different story. That’s unpleasant enough—during sex it would be unbearable.

Nevertheless, it’s not as though Logan is the only man Charles has ever had sex with. There were others, some servants, some guests of Kurt’s, whose minds essentially shouted their desire at him. Sometimes their lustful thoughts hit him unprepared, unexpected, and he found himself giving in to them automatically, without even thinking about it. Afterwards he always wiped their memories, however, making absolutely sure they wouldn’t tell on him.

In a way this was easy. He always knew who wanted him, so there were no awkward moments, no fear of embarrassing himself, and in the end he sent them away with them not remembering anything of the night they spent together. No consequences, no heartbreak, nothing. Satisfying, but lonely.

He lost all this after his accident.

First, he had little interest in sex. There was the pain in his back, the numbness of his legs and genitals, the complete loneliness as Kurt cut him off from everyone around him, apart from Raven, Logan and Hank. Sex was the last thing on his mind, though he did sometimes wonder what it might be like once he tried it again.

Then Hank came up with the serum, and Charles’ legs returned, and with them the sensation in his lower body. But now he’d lost his way of reading people. He no longer felt safe to invite anyone to his room to pursue his desires, because he couldn’t be sure whether they were reciprocal, and the loss of the ability to wipe the other men’s memories held him back even more. There was only Logan then, and only a few times. 

He thought he could live with that, he really did, but now...now there’s Erik.

Since they try and wash their clothes as often as possible they wear nothing but underwear to bed most nights. Charles catches glimpses of Erik’s perfectly sculpted body just before the lights are extinguished rather often, and of the bulge in his boxers, which leaves very little to the imagination. It’s lucky that their nightly touches are confined to areas above the navel, because otherwise Erik would have had a very clear idea of how exactly Charles felt about him and his masterpiece of a male body.

And that can’t happen. Charles doesn’t know anything about Erik, but he does know from a time when he still had his telepathy, that a lot of men are highly uncomfortable with the concept of other men being attracted to them, let alone getting an erection from the sight of them half-naked. 

Charles wants to believe that Erik isn’t one of them, but...how can he be sure without his telepathy? He can’t risk everything that’s grown between them just because his cock aches to be touched by Erik’s hand, his mouth, and—

_ For fuck’s sake. _

Sometimes the desire to just turn around and press his lips to Erik’s to capture them in a kiss as they lie so close to one another is so strong that it takes Charles’ breath away. Erik’s arm draped loosely over his waist feels amazing, Charles’ skin underneath it burning from the touch, and yet it’s not nearly enough. Charles aches to push back his arse and feel Erik’s cock against it, to have Erik’s hands run hungrily over his body.

Will it be Charles’ incapability of controlling his physical desires that’ll endanger the emotional bond he and Erik have worked so hard to form? He can’t let that happen. And if he has to masturbate every day outside in the snow. He needs Erik close, or he’ll go mad. He can’t risk being pushed away, Erik closing himself off out of disgust or awkwardness. It would kill him, perhaps kill them both.

He can’t.


	9. 1.9 Erik

Erik’s not sure he’s ever been as painfully torn between needing something so desperately and trying to keep it away as hard as he can. It’s fucking exhausting, and he’s not sure how much longer he can do it for.

Night time in particular is agony. Charles is so close, so torturously close that Erik would only have to lift his hand about an inch to stroke his hand along the other man’s cheek, or tighten the grip of his arm to truly embrace Charles, but he just can’t bring himself to do it, even though he needs it so badly it makes his chest constrict painfully.

But what would happen next? 

There are two possibilities that Erik could think of, both playing themselves over and over in his head. 

Charles could tense, or even push him away, perhaps stare at him in disgust, which would immediately destroy any shred of friendship they’ve worked so hard to build between themselves. This would kill Erik, even the idea of Charles looking at him with repulsion on his face almost destroys him.

But perhaps Charles wouldn’t tense or draw back. Perhaps he’d pull Erik closer instead, perhaps he’d capture his lips in a kiss, which would lead to all kinds of things Erik can’t think about without his cock growing rock hard and throbbing almost painfully. This possibility might not even be as unlikely as Erik thought before. He’s seen the looks on Charles’ face sometimes, those looks that practically mirror what’s going on in Erik’s mind, and yet...even though the idea, the sheer possibility is incredibly arousing and makes Erik’s heart beat faster than ever before, it’s also perhaps the scarier outcome of the two.

Erik isn’t sure whether he really, genuinely wants it.

A part of him definitely does—the part that wants nothing more than to roll on top Charles, cover his body in kisses, hear him gasp and moan while Erik touches him, feel their cocks slide against one another, and keep going, do all sorts of things to each other that Erik can’t allow his mind to even contemplate. And afterwards, once they’d be lying next to each other, sated and spent, Erik would brush a strand of sweaty hair out of Charles’ face and pull him close, so close that he’d be feeling Charles everywhere from head to toe. They’d sleep like this, entangled, touching, united.

It’s this part of Erik that grows stronger with every passing day, while another part—the once dominant part—grows more faint, though it keeps trying hard to claw its way back up, not just giving in, but fighting tooth and nail against being pushed aside.

_ You’ve got a job, _ this part’s angry voice whispers dangerously in Erik’s mind.  _ Are you really going to risk everything you’ve worked for just because of your inadvisable feelings for the  _ Crown Prince _ himself? _

A pang of guilt always accompanies those thoughts. Erik swore he’d avenge his parents’ deaths, he swore it to their dead and burnt bodies. What kind of son is he? Basically fraternising with the enemy—no, worse—desiring the enemy.

_ Charles isn’t the enemy,  _ the other part of Erik’s inner struggle interjects there.  _ None of it was Charles’ fault. Charles was eleven when Shaw had all those people killed. He didn’t have anything to do with it. Charles is a victim too. They tried to kill him just like they tried to kill you. _

Erik so wants to trust Charles, wants to believe that his warmth and kindness are genuine traits, that his assertions that he didn’t know about Marko’s cruel policies are true. But how can he be sure? How can he trust his own judgement now that it’s clouded by desire?

During the day, the pain and uncertainty fades somewhat. Erik finds himself smiling at Charles’ remarks, or otherwise working or waiting beside him in comfortable silence. There seems to be no pressure between them as long as it’s light, which in turn takes the pressure away from the struggle brewing inside of Erik. The situation doesn’t seem dangerous at all. And why would it be? Why shouldn’t he allow himself to feel comfortable in Charles’ presence, to laugh and smile with him, and...just look at him.

_ It’s alright, _ Erik tells himself in those moments. Waiting for the telegraph to catch a signal is everything they can do right now to get away from this planet, and why shouldn’t they spend their waiting time together? Once they’ve achieved it, Erik will be free to hunt Shaw again, and this time he won’t be as stupid, or as slow. He’ll be quick. He’ll find a way.

Charles isn’t holding him back at all. Erik wouldn’t be quicker without Charles, or more efficient. Whatever drugs they are that Charles injects into his arm every other night, they don’t seem to affect him in any way that would make him a risk to Erik’s plan.

At least not before he runs out, though Erik doesn’t want to think about that.

In many ways, even though the nights are torturous, Erik is more than glad to have Charles around. He never thought he’d mind being alone, but he’s not sure whether he hasn’t overestimated his own toughness before. He can’t imagine being without Charles anymore. The silence would drive him crazy, the emptiness, the dead people so close by…

They’ve haunted him ever since he and Charles found them, especially in the few hours afterwards. Erik could practically see the scene right before his inner eye then, he still can if he closes his eyes sometimes. The attackers—soldiers of the Empire perhaps, out to catch rebels defying the Emperor—dragging the villagers out of their houses by their hair—just as they did with Erik’s parents—forcing them to dig the hole themselves, then lining them up, the helpless villagers shaking, all too aware of what was going to happen to them next. Erik sees the soldiers pushing one villager after the other to the edge of the hole, lifting their guns to their victim’s head and pulling the trigger without batting an eyelid, the lifeless body of the villager collapsing into the hole. Perhaps they sent another bullet after them, the additional ones strewn around the ground, stuck between the rib cages suggested as much. Erik can hear the sobbing of the villagers waiting in line, can see their anguished, pained faces... 

...his mother’s face, turning away because she can’t bear watching her husband being shot, terrified because she knows she’ll be next, and because she can’t be sure whether they won’t come for Erik too.

It’s all too real in Erik’s head, true memories intermingled with imagination, and whenever they force themselves back into his consciousness he has to fight hard not to sink to his knees and scream. It’s been a long time since those memories were as clear and brutal as they are now. He pushed them away, always making sure he didn’t forget them, but keeping them locked up for most of the time. He knew he’d stay angry even if he didn’t constantly replay the scene in his head, and he needed to keep a clear mind to be able to get where he needed to be. The first time he intentionally recalled the scene was when he first noticed himself getting closer to Charles…

It seems a long time ago now, the moment that he tried to fight even liking Charles in fear of losing his focus, of his anger slipping away. He must have stopped fighting that at some point, or at least he backed away, admitting defeat for the moment, only to take up his arms again a little further back, desperately trying not to let his guard down completely.

There’s no denying that he allowed himself to like Charles. Or even more than that. Definitely more than that, whether he’s comfortable with it or not.

Nobody could probably escape Charles’ charms for longer than a few days, Erik justifies himself. Charles’ warmth, his kindness, his wit and his smartness must get to anyone sooner or later. Charles is just so easy to talk to, never judgemental, always insightful, a great listener, and he’s funny. Hell, he makes  _ Erik  _ smile, who doesn’t think he really smiled since the day of his parents’ deaths, and those are not forced smiles, they’re genuine, heart-lifting smiles.

There can’t be anything wrong with that, can there? There’s nothing wrong with being comfortable around another person and enjoying their company, nothing  _ dangerous _ about that.

It’s fine.

Erik wasn’t at all surprised when he found out that Charles liked chess, because of course Charles would be great at Erik’s favourite game. How could it be any different…

It only takes Erik about two minutes to fashion a set of chess pieces out of old tins and remainders from the crashed shuttle. He then uses a knife to carve a chessboard into the wooden floorboards, and waits impatiently for Charles to return from his visit to their forest toilet.

The gasp from Charles as he steps through the door and spots the set-up game on the floor, accompanied by the widest and most gorgeous smile Erik has been greeted with yet, make Erik’s heart race in a way that he’s never experienced before. When was the last time that another person’s happiness and delight made Erik feel so...light-headed? Has it ever happened?

“You’re amazing,” Charles breathes out, making Erik’s stupid heart race a million times faster still. “Did you make that while I was out?”

Charles’ fascination with Erik’s mutation—met with disdain and disbelief at first—now never fails to melt away any defenses Erik put up for the moment.

“I thought you might want to play,” Erik responds, trying to appear modest. “Mind you, I haven’t played in a while.”

It’s true. He hasn’t found the time to play at all since he started working at the shipyard, not to mention that among all those people he did play against—mostly men he shared a room with in the shabby lodgings he used to live in on Earth—were hardly any who posed a real challenge to him. His father is still probably the best player he ever played against, and that was a long time ago.

“Don’t worry,” Charles replies, an amused grin on his face as he sits down opposite Erik. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Erik’s not sure whether the suggestive tone of Charles’ voice is intentional, but it nevertheless sends a (not uncomfortable) shiver down his spine. He catches himself just in time, however, which is lucky, because he realises soon that for once he truly has to focus hard on the game in front of him, or he won’t stand a chance.

Focusing, however, also turns out to be a harder task than expected. 

Charles keeps licking his lips whenever he thinks about his next move, and though Erik tries very hard to look away and keep his eyes on the board, he can’t help his stupid eyes being drawn to the sight again and again, can’t help a question rising in his mind over and over.

What would those red lips feel like against Erik’s lips, against Erik’s tongue, around his cock?

Perhaps it’s this distraction which earns Erik the worst defeat he’s ever suffered at chess, only second perhaps to his very first attempts against his father when he was only seven years old.

Erik stares at the board in disbelief for what feels like several minutes before he’s able to accept that Charles indeed just wiped him off the board. The strange thing about it is that it doesn’t bother him much. Instead of annoyance he feels excitement. Finally an opponent who poses a real challenge. Nevertheless, he is definitely embarrassed by his defeat, especially in light of the fact that it was probably due to his sexual thoughts about Charles that he lost so spectacularly.

“You said you’d go easy on me,” he mutters.

“I know,” Charles says, looking surprisingly contrite. “I think my ambition got the better of me.”

That makes Erik laugh. “It’s alright. I wasn’t expecting you to deliberately make mistakes. Next time I’ll crush you though.”

“I can’t wait,” responds Charles warmly.

 

Later in bed, facing the wall, with Charles’ arm draped loosely over his waist, Erik reconsiders the scene. He never knows how to feel about those small moments between himself and Charles once it’s dark and they lie so close together. 

One part of him basks in the memory of it, relishing every tiny detail—the warmth of Charles’ voice, the light in his smile. Just the thought of it makes Erik want to take hold of Charles’ arm and pull him closer until his front is flush against Erik’s back. There’s still so much distance between them, too much.

_ Not enough, _ the angry voice inside him interjects, and Erik tenses slightly. 

Charles is threatening to become the most important part of Erik’s life. His past self would loathe him for that. Charles is the  _ Crown Prince. _ What is he thinking? He’s betraying everything he fought for. Or isn’t he? How can he know what is the right thing to do, the right impulse to act on?

Is he already too far gone to make rational decisions?

 

They spend the next several days almost entirely playing chess, taking breaks only occasionally to go outside and relieve themselves or collect firewood. Charles is incredibly skilled. He thinks ahead, and almost always seems to be able to guess what Erik plans to do next. Of the dozens of games they play, Erik manages to win only two—but he’s never been more pleased with himself when he does.

Charles laughs loudly at the smug look on Erik’s face as he knocks over Charles’ king, apparently not at all upset that he’s lost.

“That was great,” he says with a wide smile. “I should tell you that nobody’s beaten me in years. Well done.”

And Erik can’t help feeling warmth and pride spreading inside him at those words.

As soon as it gets darker and it becomes increasingly trying to make out the different chess pieces, they stop, leaning back against the wall comfortably, and just talking about one thing or another. 

Charles never tires of hearing stories from Erik’s childhood. How his mother taught him to cook, how his parents woke him with a song and a cake on his ninth birthday, how he used to sit on the windowsill with his father in the evenings, while his father pointed out the different stellar constellations.

Erik has never before told anyone about these memories. They were always there, kept hidden away from the world, Erik’s alone to see.

Now he can’t stop talking about them. He sees the memories come alive again in the smile on Charles’ face, his amusement at the funny ones, the silent but deep understanding in his eyes at the meaningful ones. Charles is not taking them away from him, as Erik always feared. He’s helping him paint them in colour again, and view them with joy and warmth in a way that Erik thought he’d lost.

Charles, in return, talks about Raven, his ‘sister’, most of the time. The games they played, how she used to trick him with her mutation, and how she was impossible to beat at hide and seek, because she could disguise herself as anyone else perfectly. Erik has never met a shapeshifter before, or maybe he has and he didn’t know it at the time. In any case, Raven’s mutation is a delight to hear about.

Charles doesn’t talk a lot about his parents, but he seems to have mixed emotions whenever he does mention them. What Erik gathers from the little Charles says is that his father, Emperor Xavier, was a kind and good man who cared deeply for his son, but was far too busy to be home a lot, while his mother was always distant and uninterested. It paints a sad picture of Charles’ childhood, and Erik—to his own surprise—finds himself thinking that he wouldn’t want to swap the first years of his life with Charles’ at any price. True, Charles grew up in luxury, while Erik and his parents lived in a hut not much different from the one he and Charles now ensconced themselves in, but at least he had parents who loved him deeply and were always there for him—until they were murdered of course, and everything went to shit. But nevertheless, Erik will always have those first eleven years of his life, the certainty that he was loved deeply. And anyway, didn’t something very similar happen to Charles too? His parents were probably murdered by Marko and his men, even though Charles didn’t know it at the time. It’s not unlikely either that Shaw was somehow involved in the murder of Charles’ parents. Shaw and Marko must have known each other or Shaw wouldn’t have gotten a job of such a high rank as soon as Marko became Emperor.

Perhaps it was even his reward for getting rid of the Emperor and his wife. Only, the plan didn’t work out completely, did it? Charles wasn’t on the plane as he should have been. He survived, stopping Marko from taking over the throne completely. After that Marko must have been more careful. He must have been biding his time, trying to find out how best to get rid of Charles without anyone suspecting him. It must have been risky after Emperor Xavier and his wife’s ‘accident’. If anything happened too soon, Marko might have risked an investigation by people loyal to Emperor Xavier and, in extension, Charles.

So he waited, almost fourteen years, until he finally acted. That’s a long time, and it definitely must have been hard to bear for Marko to still only be able to act as Charles’ guardian, and not the true Emperor himself.

Unless—

Erik straightens up, knocking over the pile of chess pieces he’s won from Charles so far.

Charles glances at him, his hand frozen in the air, where he was just about to pick up his queen on the board between them. “Are you alright?”

Erik takes a deep breath. “Charles, is it true you had an accident about two years ago?” 

Who knows whether the palace’s statement wasn’t another lie after all?

“Wh—what?” Charles’ hand drops into his lap.

From what Erik can see he looks even paler than usual, though that might just be a trick of the light.

“About two years ago the palace said you’d had an accident, but you were going to be alright,” Erik says. “Was that true?”

It takes Charles a moment to answer.

“Yes,” he says then, rather more quietly than usual. “Yes, it was.”

“What happened?”

Charles sighs. “I was starting a shuttle, and—”

“You can fly a shuttle?” Erik interrupts him, his eyes wide. 

It shouldn’t be as big of a surprise as it is, but Erik still remembers their first meeting, when Charles appeared completely clueless about space travel.

“No, I can’t,” Charles replies with a crooked smile. “It was my first lesson and...well. Quite obviously I can’t fly a shuttle without crashing it.”

“The shuttle crashed? But—how did you survive?”

Charles shrugs, though his eyes look clouded. “It was right after take-off. We hadn’t flown very high yet, barely a few feet. I—” He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Actually, I made a mistake. I accelerated too abruptly, too soon, and the engine just...exploded. The shuttle was blasted apart, just like that. We were blown away by the blast, and...” His voice dies away and he swallows.

Erik frowns. “Shuttle engines don’t explode if you accelerate too soon.”

Charles shakes his head impatiently. “Well, it did, alright? I accelerated and it exploded. I didn’t push any wrong buttons by accident—like Kurt suggested.” He sounds bitter.

“There are no buttons in a shuttle that could make the engine explode,” Erik says slowly.

“That’s great,” Charles says abruptly, his usually full red lips a thin white line. “Thanks a lot. Brilliant. Are you telling me I didn’t kill my instructor then?”

It’s the first time Erik hears Charles talk in such a bitter tone. How did their conversation escalate so quickly? Hurting Charles was the last thing Erik wanted.

“Charles, are you alright?” Erik asks tentatively.

Charles swallows again, his lips pressed tightly together. “No,” he says. “I made a mistake, and a man died because of it.”

A tear runs down his cheek. Erik longs to wipe it away.

“I don’t think it was your fault,” says Erik cautiously.

“What do you know?” Charles flares up, staring at him angrily. “You weren’t there. I wasn’t supposed to accelerate until my instructor told me to. I forgot. I was nervous. I did it too early, too quickly. It broke the engine, and he died in the crash. I killed him.”

“No, you didn’t,” says Erik simply. “Didn’t you hear me? I know quite a bit about shuttles, and what you did couldn’t make an engine explode—not unless it was already broken. Not unless it had been tampered with.”

There. He said it.

Charles just stares at him, his mouth slightly open, his eyes red, another tear running down his cheek. There’s comprehension dawning behind his eyes. However naive Charles is, he isn’t stupid after all.

“Shit…” he whispers. “Are you sure?”

“Entirely,” Erik says emphatically. “You accelerating too abruptly probably saved your life—otherwise the engine would have blasted a few seconds later and the drop would have been much higher.” He hesitates. “As I’m sure they’d planned.”

Charles turns away and stares at the chessboard carved into the floor, his mouth still slightly open. There’s something extremely painful going on behind his eyes.

When he doesn’t speak, Erik continues. “I can’t believe you made it out of that alive. And now you got away a third time. Three times they tried to kill you and you survived—and without lasting injuries at that.”

Charles still doesn’t say anything.

“I’m...grateful that you made it though,” Erik says quietly, his heart racing in his chest. 

Charles turns very slowly, staring at Erik, his lips slightly parted.

Erik swallows. He can’t do this. He can’t. What was he thinking?

“I mean,” he says quickly. “You’re the Empire’s only hope. We need you to get rid of Marko and make things right again.”

Charles blinks, lowering his eyes to the floor. 

Erik could swear he saw a flash of disappointment cross them before he looked away though.

“Thanks,” says Charles quietly. “I’ll do my best. If we ever find a way to get away from here.”

 

That night Erik almost gives in to his desires and pulls Charles closer.

Almost.

He feels his arm twitch where it’s draped over Charles’ waist, feels Charles startle from the sensation, then they both lie there for a moment, tense, holding their breaths. It would so easy to just put his arm around Charles properly, tug him close, bury his face in the Prince’s soft hair. Erik’s stomach squeezes as he imagines it, his heart racing.

What if he just did it? What if he ignored all his fears and trusted his heart for once?

But then Charles sighs quietly, frustratedly, and turns over onto his stomach, away from Erik, making Erik’s arm slip from his waist, and the impulse is gone again, all the doubts and anger at himself taking its place instead.

Why can’t he just pull himself together? What is wrong with him?

What is it about Charles that makes him so irresistible to Erik? Is it really their solitude? Would things be different if there were other people to distract them?

Or would he have fallen in love with Charles anyway?

_ In love? _ Where did that came from? Love? How can he even be sure what love is? Yes, he loved his parents but it was nothing like this. If this is love, it’s unlike anything Erik has ever experienced. But then...there was never anyone who meant as much as Charles, not after his parents’ deaths. Not in any way.

Is it  _ love _ that makes Erik weak, makes him forget about his purpose, his goal? If it is, he doesn’t want it. He did well without it for years. So far it has only pained him, kept him awake at night, made him doubt everything he thought he knew. He doesn't need it. 

What he needs is Shaw’s head on a stick, the knowledge that the bastard will never be able to enjoy another day. It needs to be his sole focus, leaving this damned planet behind to finally kill the man. And once he’s done that, there are other people that have to pay for their crimes. And if he survives until the very end, well...then Charles will hopefully be Emperor. Charles will put things right again, as he said, which is all that matters once Shaw and the other monsters are dead. There won’t be any room for Erik in Charles’ life then. So what’s the point of longing for something that will never be? There won’t be any  _ him and Charles _ if they ever manage to leave this planet. And they must, Erik has to leave this planet.

Erik knows all that, so why does it still hurt? Why can’t he stop?

Instead, the feeling grows stronger with every passing day, taking his breath away, making his chest constrict. It hurts to look at Charles, and it hurts not to look at Charles. Erik can’t stop himself from studying every detail of Charles’ face. The way his beautiful blue eyes light up when he laughs, or the way his red lips curl into a smile when he looks at Erik. And nevertheless it hurts so badly Erik can hardly stand it.

But Erik could live with all that, he could live with the pain. Even though his feelings for Charles are different, he’s no stranger to emotional pain after all, or longing. He’s been longing to have his parents back ever since they died, and had to live with the knowledge that it was impossible. That hurt terribly, it almost tore him apart, but he survived, and he managed not to let it show most of the time. He was crying and raging inside at times, his heart tearing itself to shreds, his gut twisting painfully, and yet he sat at the table in the orphanage with all the other children and ate his porridge without anyone noticing any of it. He’d be able to do the same with his longing to have Charles near, to hold him and be held, he knows it. It would be fine. Erik has mastered the art of not letting his emotions show on his face after all.

What he doesn’t know how to deal with, however, is his overwhelming physical desire.

It’s a completely new sensation to him. Yes, he’s felt physical attraction before, and he knows what it’s like to be aroused, but his arousal was never caused by any person in particular. He was just...horny, after two weeks or more without sex, and subsequently went out looking for somebody who’d be willing to share his bed for the night. In the end it didn’t even really matter who the person was. There were women, men, mutants, non-mutants—though Erik did have his preferences, it didn’t matter if a person did not fit them. In the end it was about release and nothing else.

Charles, however...Charles is just beautiful to him in a way that Erik has never felt about anybody else before. Whenever he undresses in the evening, unbuttoning his shirt and revealing the milky skin underneath, covered in freckles, Erik wants nothing more than to take his hand to pull him into the light in order to be able to examine him closer. He’d take his time, walk around Charles to take in every glorious detail of his body, then, finally, let his hands roam tenderly over Charles’ skin and caress every single freckle to see whether it felt any different from the rest. He’d brush his fingers softly over Charles’ collarbone, then over a nipple, and he’d see Charles suck in a breath. He’d further allow his finger to travel over Charles’ face, over his lips, the reddish stubble on his chin, the slightly-too-large nose, and then he’d finally permit himself to lean forward, capturing Charles’ red, red lips in a kiss, while his fingers would sink into Charles’ soft hair.

While all these fantasies are safe in Erik’s head, distracting, frustrating, but nevertheless under his control, the response of his body is a different matter. Erik has never before grown hard at the mere sight of another person, yet these days it seems to almost become a permanent condition. He doesn’t allow himself to take off his trousers in front of Charles, always making sure he’s behind the curtain as he does so, and carefully wrapped in a blanket when he emerges. 

Once he’s slipped into bed and Charles has joined him, the agony begins, the longing to have Charles close, to feel his skin and the warmth of his body, combined with the panic that he might get too close, that Charles might feel the unmistakable hardness in Erik’s underwear. If he did there would be no explaining it away. Erik would have to be honest. He’d have to reveal how he really feels about Charles.

And he can’t, he’s been through this time and time again, his brain replaying the same argument over and over again. He can’t. It’s unwise, even dangerous. Even in the unlikely case that Charles wouldn’t be repulsed and disgusted by Erik’s attraction to him, Erik couldn’t act on it. It would only weaken him further, sidetrack him, perhaps even calm him, soothe him, take away his anger.

That can’t happen. Erik can’t risk losing sight of his purpose just because he can’t control his physical desire for the fucking _ Crown Prince. _ It would be a slap in his parents’ face, him forgetting about them so easily, just because he hasn’t had sex in a while.

Is he really that weak?

 

One evening, just as it gets dark, Erik goes outside for a quick piss, while Charles is in the bathtub hidden behind the curtains. The mental image of Charles naked in the water has Erik hard and throbbing in his trousers again, which makes it difficult to urinate. His fingers are slightly cold on his cock, but nevertheless the touch sends those frustratingly good sparks up Erik’s spine, making him groan quietly. 

He could just grip himself tightly and wank himself off. He’s done this countless times before in his life after all. It wouldn’t take long. He’s been on the edge practically all day. All those last days.

But it doesn’t feel right for some reason. Charles is there, only about a hundred yards away. Erik’s done it a few times before, masturbated outside in the snow to get rid of some of the pressure. It only provided a temporary relief, however, and it made him feel terrible. Almost as though he was using Charles against his will, abusing him without his knowledge.

Gritting his teeth, Erik closes his fly again, and turns around, walking back in the direction of the cabin. It’s completely dark now, the only source of light the dimly illuminated window of the hut.

As Erik reenters the cabin he expects Charles to either be wrapped up in a blanket, or still be behind the curtain. What he doesn’t expect is Charles standing next to the bathtub completely naked, half turned away from Erik, one foot on its rim, curtain drawn back, drying himself off with a towel.

Erik catches a glimpse of Charles’ pale backside, perfectly formed, some droplets of water still glistening on his arse cheeks. The muscles on his back flex as he leans forward to dry his leg.

Charles turns at the sound of the door hinges creaking. 

He doesn’t look shocked to see Erik there. He must have known that Erik would be back at any moment. Why did he draw back the curtain?

“Erik..” Charles says tentatively, nervously.

He takes his foot off the rim of the bathtub, revealing the front of his body in all its glory. He’s simply  _ gorgeous,  _ his cock semi-hard, his chest, almost hairless and covered in freckles, trembling from a shaking breath.

Erik’s cock twitches. 

He could have him, he realises. Charles wants it. He could have Charles here and now, and nobody but them would ever know. They could be so close, closer than Erik’s ever been to anyone else.

The thought fills him with sudden panic.

Before he can think properly, Erik has stumbled backwards out of the door, into the darkness, and off, Charles’ distant call ringing in his ears, but not reaching him.

Erik has no idea where he’s going. All he knows is that he needs to get away from Charles, as far away as possible from the danger that could ruin everything.

The air is cold on Erik’s face and in his lungs, but he doesn't care. He keeps running, stumbling over branches and roots in the dark, unable to make out where he’s going until—

—he trips over something large and falls, rolling down a steep slope and crashing onto something firm. There’s a crack and next thing Erik knows he’s engulfed by ice-cold water.

He gasps for air, the cold spreading through his body as though trying to crush it. His hands and his senses desperately reach out for something to hold on to, but there’s no metal around, just cold air and ice and water, and he can’t see in the darkness, the light of the stars barely illuminating the ice around him. The water has a tight, cold, and merciless grip on him, pulling his legs away, further into the coldness. The river has grabbed hold of him, trying to pull him under the sheet of ice, trying to swallow him up.

Erik calls out, but he’s not sure whether any sound has come out of his mouth at all. Everything around is so loud. Buzzing and gurgling and his own ragged breaths. Erik lashes out, his hand hitting solid earth, and then—he grabs hold of a root, or is it a branch?.

_ Hold out. Please, hold out, _ Erik thinks desperately.

But for how long will  _ he _ be able to hold on? His frozen and numb fingers are already weakening, the root slipping away from him, and there’s nothing he can do about it, nothing at all. The stream is going to tear him away from the bank, drag him underwater, drown him, and nobody will ever find his body.

Erik thinks of Charles waiting for him in the cabin. Beautiful, wonderful Charles. He’ll never see Charles again. Charles won’t even know what happened to him.

_ Charles. _

Erik’s fingers slip from the root, unable to hold on any longer, but at the same moment there’s another sensation. Something wrapping itself tightly around Erik’s neck and shoulders. Something warm. A drag on his neck that he would usually fight automatically, but he can’t. He can’t do anything. A frustrated huff, more pulling, but the drag on Erik’s legs is stronger. Someone is wheezing, gasping loudly, desperately.

A realisation finally penetrates Erik’s thick, frozen and petrified mind. Someone is there, someone is trying to pull him out of the river. 

Charles.

Erik tries to help, tries to grab hold of the other man’s arm wrapped around his chest, but he can’t. He’s frozen, where he is, unable to move a muscle. The river has sucked all his strength out of him and paralyzed him. The drag on Erik’s torso intensifies again, but nothing comes of it. And again. There’s another frustrated huff, and another drag.

The pull in his lower body lets up, as it slides along a sharp edge of the ice, definitely cutting him open. The pain stings sharply for a moment, before it’s drowned out by all the other pain everywhere in his body. Another drag and the pull on Erik’s legs disappears too, though the cold stays, as though its sunk its teeth into Erik, not wanting ever to let go again.

Erik is shivering so badly, his teeth chattering so loudly, the buzzing in his ears so overwhelming that he can hardly hear, but he nevertheless makes out a voice, sharp among all the dull sounds, and also shivering.

“You fucking idiot. What  _ the fuck _ were you thinking? You could have _ died!” _ The voice breaks.

It really is Charles. Charles is there. Charles came for him.

Erik tries to reach out to him, touch him, feel him, because he can’t see anything, and he needs to know that Charles is truly there, that he’s  _ real. _ Erik’s hand and arms still won’t move, however, frozen, stinging, shaking, but not obeying Erik’s command. He wants to speak, but his jaw and tongue don’t respond either. It’s as though his body is completely frozen, but shaking, as though all control has slipped away from him.

“Erik! Erik, can you hear me?”

_ Yes, _ Erik wants to shout.  _ Yes, I’m here. I’m stuck.  _ But his body doesn’t feel like his own anymore, apart from the pain, the terrible stinging pain in every single fibre. He’s so cold, but he’s on fire, his skin burning so hotly, he wants to scream, but not even that is possible.

There’s a warm and soft sensation on Erik’s face, tender fingers stroking his cheek.

“Erik!”

A light slap on his cheek, then more caressing.

_ I’m here! _ Erik thinks desperately.  _ Help me! _

“You’re in shock. Let’s get you to the cabin.”

The fingers draw back, and Erik tries to grasp them to hold them in place, but his body still won’t obey him.

_ Don’t leave me! _ he wants to shout in his panic, but it’s as though his voice has been washed away by the river.

Then the warm embrace is back. Charles’ arms around him, shivering almost as much as Erik himself, trying to pull him up. Charles’ arm brushes against Erik’s cheek in the struggle, skin against skin.

_ He’s naked, _ Erik realises, and he suddenly remembers Charles standing in the cabin, completely bare, right before Erik ran. Why did he run?  _ Nothing _ makes sense.

“Help me, Erik. Please, just  _ help me.  _ I can’t—” Charles’ trembling voice is desperate.

Erik’s body is so heavy, too heavy for Charles, and the shaking makes it even worse.

There’s another pull on Erik’s upper body, and Erik feels the firmness of the ground underneath his feet. If he can just...hold them steady, stop them from buckling.

“That’s it. Yes,” Charles wheezes. “Yes, well done. Now come on.”

Somehow it works. Erik’s legs don’t carry his body, so almost his whole weight is on Charles, who gasps and quivers and wheezes but doesn’t let go, but the nerves in Erik’s spine seem to remember the movement, and so they put one foot in front of the other, without Erik knowing how he’s doing it.

It takes ages, it just won’t stop. The shaking gets worse and worse, and Erik’s soaked through clothes seem to get colder and stiffer by the second. His mind flickers, like an electric light with a defective contact, the buzzing in his ears and head and the pain in his body the only things always present. It just won’t stop. Why won’t it stop?

Erik just wants to lie down and die at some point, when the pain in his bones and on his skin becomes unbearable. His mind is a big buzzing sensation, nothing is real but the pain in his whole body.

“No, no, Erik!” Charles wails, as Erik’s knees give way and he tumbles into the snow.

It doesn’t even feel cold on Erik’s cheek, just...wet.

_ Leave me here, _ Erik’s mind mumbles indistinctly.  _ Just leave me. Let me sleep. I can’t go on. _

“We’re almost there, Erik. Almost there!”

Charles’ voice grows fainter in Erik’s head, the buzzing swallowing the sound. And the words carry no meaning anyway.

The pain, too, grows fainter, as though Erik’s whole body is being softly wrapped in cotton wool now.

_ This is good,  _ he thinks dimly.  _ No more pain. Just let me sleep. _

Everything buzzes around him, and yet there’s still the distant, muffled sound of Charles’ voice.

Is he crying? Charles shouldn’t be crying. Did Erik make him cry? It’s the last thing he wants. He just wants Charles to smile. He needs to see him smile. It’ll warm him up.

And the image is there, among all the humming in Erik’s mind, brighter and more beautiful than anything else in the universe.

_ I do love him then, _ Erik thinks as the nothingness swallows him completely.


	10. 1.10 Charles

Charles’ hands shake violently,  as he finally —thank the fucking universe!—manages to pull Erik over the doorsill into the cabin. He closes the door quickly behind them in order to keep out the cold, then sinks down next to Erik’s face, fumbling for a pulse with shaking fingers.

“Come on, come on,  _ please,” _ he whispers desperately.

Erik can’t be dead. He  _ can’t _ be. But he’s so cold.  _ So cold. _

There it is, the light but regular thumping under Charles’ finger. Nothing has ever felt as good.

“Thank god,” Charles whispers, tears filling his eyes.

It’s not over. Not yet. He can still save Erik.

Ignoring the trembling of his own limbs, the coldness clawing to his bones, Charles tries to pull Erik’s soaked through, ice-cold, partly frozen clothes off of him. 

The light of the candles reveals a gash in Erik’s jacket all along his ribcage on the left side, leaking blood, that wasn’t visible in the darkness. The sight makes Charles panic again, until he forces himself to stay calm. It looks bad, really bad, but he can deal with that in a moment. The blood loss doesn’t seem too severe. There are more important things right now. 

Erik is so cold, so terribly cold. Charles needs to warm him up. It’s the only chance he has. He needs to warm him. It’s all that matters now.

The wet clothes stick to Erik as though glued to his skin, and Charles’ fingers are so cold and frozen that he hardly manages to unbutton Erik’s jacket.

“Come on,” he moans, after a button has slipped from his numb fingers for a third time.

He has to get Erik out of his clothes. He needs to warm Erik up. Why can’t he even do this simple thing for Erik? Why won’t his fingers work as they should? Why does he have to be so fucking useless?

He has to roll Erik from side to side while he pulls violently on the jacket to get it off of him, and then there’s the shirt, the trousers, the boots and socks. It takes far too long, and Charles can’t help but stop several times in between to find Erik’s pulse again, feel the reassuring thumping under the tip of his finger.

Then, finally, Erik lies on the floor completely naked, cold, and white, except for the blood smeared all over his chest, and Charles hurries to get a towel to dry him off. Soon the towel is covered in blood, but that hardly matters. Every single spot of Erik’s skin is ice-cold, there doesn’t seem to be any warmth left in him, but he’s alive, he’s  _ alive!  _ And Charles will make sure he stays that way.

Charles hurriedly pushes the blankets on the bed aside, wraps his arms around Erik’s chest again and drags him over to the bed with all the strength he can muster. He needs several attempts to push Erik up, but he doesn’t let up, knowing how important it is to get Erik off the drafty floor. He keeps going, keeps pushing, and dragging Erik, ignoring the stinging, throbbing pain in his own limbs, until Erik’s whole body finally lies on top of the mattress, where Charles tucks him in, wrapping all blankets he can find tightly around Erik’s limp and frozen body.

It’s not enough. Charles knows it. Erik’s own bodily warmth won’t be enough to keep him warm, and Charles’ body, too, is cold, too cold to warm Erik up on its own.

A sudden idea coming to his mind, Charles races the few steps to the oven, grabbing every piece of metal he can find, and stacking them on top of it. Anything he can get to warm the bed for Erik, to make the space under the blanket warm and cozy.

Next, Charles hurries to the survival box Erik saved from the broken shuttle. He grabs disinfectant and bandages and runs the few steps to their bed, where he sits down on the edge of the mattress, carefully pushing away the covers on one side again, trying not expose too much of Erik’s skin.

The wound is deep, but not dangerously so. If it doesn’t get infected, it’ll heal—if Erik doesn’t die of hypothermia, that is, or pneumonia. His skin is so fucking cold.

No, Charles thinks, gritting his teeth, trying to hold back tears of desperation. He can’t think like that. Erik will make it. He has to. Charles needs him, needs him  _ so much. _ Erik can’t die. It can’t happen. Especially since it would at least partly be his, Charles’ fault if he did. If Charles hadn’t scared him, if he hadn’t pushed Erik into a situation he wasn’t comfortable with—

Gritting his teeth, willing those thoughts away, Charles cleans the wound quickly but thoroughly with trembling fingers, then dresses it carefully, and tucks Erik back in.

There’s no use thinking like that. No fucking use. What’s done is done, and Charles will make sure his actions won’t have terrible consequences. He’ll do anything to make sure Erik will be alright.  _ Anything. _

As Charles gets up on his trembling legs again, he notices for the first time how badly he himself is shivering, how much his body hurts in various places, how numb all of his limbs are from cold and exertion. He feels as though he’s been beaten up with a bat and then left behind in the snow. He can hardly feel his feet, which are blue in places and red in others, where the skin was torn on his way through the forest.

He couldn’t have expected anything else, really. He ran, naked and barefoot, through the snow, couldn’t see where he was going. Of course he hurt himself.

But he doesn’t regret not stopping to put on his clothes and shoes. If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to find Erik, and that would have meant—

Charles shakes his head violently, trying not to let the panic rush over him again. It’s alright. He got there in time. He got Erik out, and now he needs to focus on what he can do to make him well again. He can think about everything else later. About everything that happened. About what he did, and why Erik reacted the way he did. Not now though. Right now he needs to stay in control.

Charles walks over to the bathtub and pulls on his boxers and socks, but doesn’t touch any other clothes of his. He’ll have to be as close to Erik as he can in order to warm him, clothes will only be in the way. If Erik wakes, this might make for an awkward scene, especially in light of the way Erik reacted to seeing Charles naked earlier, but he can’t think of that now. All that matters is that Erik survives.

He quickly hangs Erik’s wet clothes up to dry, then grabs some of the things stacked on top of the oven, and carries them quickly over to the bed, trying to ignore the way they burn his skin. Remembering something one of his nursemaids did when he was ill and cold in his bed, Charles pulls away the blankets at Erik’s feet and shoves the hot metal under it, making sure it doesn’t touch Erik’s skin, but is as close as possible nevertheless, before he slips under the blankets too.

He draws back momentarily as he feels how cold Erik still is. As cold as death, his skin might just as well be made of ice. He’s not lying so terribly still anymore but shivering slightly now, though clearly still not conscious. Charles has no idea whether that’s a good or a bad sign, however.

Why did it have to take him so long to get Erik out of that damned river? Why can’t he be stronger? If he’d been able to pull Erik out at once, Erik might not lie there like a corpse. What if Erik dies? What will he do if Erik truly leaves him? 

Why didn’t Charles fucking hold himself back? Why did he have to frighten Erik into running away?

Despite the cold Charles inches closer to Erik, wrapping his arm around the other man, then, after a moment’s hesitation, pulls himself on top of Erik, their chests and stomachs flush against one another, in an effort to be able to warm him better.

Charles shivers from the cold touch, but he doesn’t flinch again. At least he can feel the faint beating of Erik’s heart against his chest in this position. Charles lifts his hands to Erik’s upper arms and starts to rub them forcefully along the frozen skin in an effort to warm it up.

It hurts as the muscles in his arms and neck protest against yet more hard work, but Charles doesn’t stop. His own pain and discomfort don’t matter as long as he manages to keep Erik alive.

Nothing matters but that Erik lives.

After several minutes of rubbing, the skin on Erik’s arms has gone from white to red. He’s no longer as cold either, and the beating of his heart has intensified, while the shivering has calmed down again. When Charles dares to stop the rubbing of Erik’s arms and props himself up on trembling hands to glance at Erik’s face, he’s relieved to see that the other man’s cheeks are no longer white either, but that there’s a soft tinge of pink on them. He doesn’t look dead anymore, but relaxed and sleeping.

Charles releases a long and shaking breath, collapsing on Erik’s chest again.

He did it. Erik will be okay. He’s just exhausted, that’s all, which is no surprise given what he went through. He just needs to rest now, and he’ll be fine.

Charles closes his eyes, finally allowing his own exhaustion to wash over him. Every bone and muscle in his body hurts, and he’s so tired...so damned tired.

The last thought Charles has, before his exhausted mind drifts away, is what Erik will think once he wakes in the next hours and finds Charles on top of him, but before Charles can form a proper conclusion, his thoughts have slipped away.

 

When Charles wakes several hours later, he feels incredibly hot, almost unbearably so. As he moves he finds the skin of his chest sticking to Erik’s, and not just there. Every inch of skin where their bodies have touched is wet, covered in sweat and burning. It takes Charles a moment to realise that the heat is not his own but Erik’s, whose body is hot like a furnace beneath him.

Charles straightens up in horror, kneeling above Erik and staring at the other man’s face, which is no longer relaxed like last night. Erik’s lips are moving soundlessly, the muscles in his cheeks and around his eyes contracting. He’s shivering all over, and he looks as though he’s in terrible pain.

“Erik?” Charles whispers.

There’s no answer, not even a sign that Erik heard him.

“Erik,  _ please,” _ Charles begs, putting his hand to Erik’s cheek and softly stroking along the red and burning skin with his thumb.

Erik doesn’t react at all. His eyes stay closed, the muscles in his face tensing, his breathing irregular, his whole body trembling. He’s not asleep, Charles realises. This is more than sleep.

Charles lets his head drop onto Erik’s damp and hot chest, trying very hard not to scream.

_ No, no, no! _ his mind keeps repeating over and over. He thought Erik would be okay, he was sure he’d saved him, and now...a fucking fever! What on earth is he going to do now?

He can’t let Erik die, he can’t.

Charles lifts his head again, staring into Erik’s restless face. 

“Erik, please come back,” he whispers pleadingly, though he already knows it’s no good. 

Erik’s consciousness must be somewhere Charles can’t reach with mere words, though he might—he fucking might if he had his telepathy. If he had it, he might be able to pull Erik back to the real world—but would that even help? The fever would still be there after all.

Erik’s head turns to one side and he groans, a terrible, pain-ridden sound that makes Charles’ insides twist so violently he feels, for a moment, like he’s going to be sick.

What’s going on in Erik’s head? What is torturing him like that? Why can’t he, Charles, help? He can’t fucking stand seeing Erik like that.

Charles swallows, trying to pull himself together. Erik needs him. He can’t lose it now. He needs to think practical. Didn’t his pediatric say that sweating was a good sign? Doesn’t that mean the temperature is going down? Or is Charles just making that up in his mind?

What if his memory is false though? Charles is sure that, when he was badly ill as a kid he kept sweating and shivering in turns for days. And what if all the sweat on Erik’s chest is his, Charles’, sweat anyway?

What did the maids do when he had a high fever as a kid?

They gave him medicine to lower his temperature, his memory recalls. But he doesn’t have any. There’s none in the survival kit and none in Charles’ med kit. There wasn’t any space what with all the vials of serum and the stuff he needs in case he runs out. 

_ Why _ didn’t he ask Hank to pack more, other basic medical things? Why didn’t he think? If Erik dies because Charles didn’t use his brains for a fucking second—

Charles shakes his head. These thoughts aren’t productive. Erik is suffering, possibly dying underneath him, and he’s busy blaming himself, when he should try and help.

_ Calm down and think, _ Charles tells himself.  _ Just think. Where does the fever come from? _

Fevers don’t just happen. You don’t get a fever just because you got too cold, there must be something else going on. A virus perhaps, aided by the fact that Erik’s body was too weak to fight it off, or a bacterial infection.

Charles’ heart plummets. Either doesn’t bode well. He has no idea what kinds of viruses or bacteria lurk in this unknown ecosystem, and how dangerous they are. What if it's pneumonia after all? There would be absolutely nothing Charles could do to heal that. 

But Erik does have a wound. The ice must have cut him open last night. Charles did his best to clean it, but what if that wasn’t enough? What if the wound is the focus of inflammation? 

Charles jumps out of bed, ignoring the trembling in his own exhausted legs, and fetches a towel as well as clean bandages and the disinfectant.

The fire has gone out overnight, and the cabin is freezing cold, his bare feet hurting on the chilly floorboards. He’ll need to do something about that later, but right now other things are more important.

Erik’s body feels even hotter as Charles slips back under the blankets, shivering, the sweaty skin on Erik’s chest gleaming in the daylight. 

Charles takes a deep breath, then undresses the wound on the side of Erik’s ribcage. 

Erik doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t react at all, but his lips keep moving and his head keeps turning slightly from side to side.

Perhaps it’s a small comfort that Erik won’t have to feel the pain from the wound.

Even though Charles can’t tell whether the wound is infected or not  _ (why _ does he know so little about medicine? He’s studied so much, but why didn’t he read up more on how to treat open wounds?), he cleans it even more thoroughly than the night before, then dresses it in a new bandage, before he wipes down Erik’s whole body with the towel and gets out of bed to turn over the blanket, so the dry (but unfortunately cold) side is facing Erik.

After he’s done all that Charles just stands there, next to the bed, shivering in the cold, and staring at Erik’s face, still red, still restless, with this painful expression that Charles can’t bear.

What else can he do? There  _ has to _ be a way of lowering Erik’s temperature without medication. What else did his nursemaids do when he was ill? Didn’t they put wet towels on his legs? Cold, wet towels? That should certainly help a bit, but what if it cools Erik down too much?

Charles shivers. What if he does something stupid and hurts Erik instead of helping him?

But he has to do  _ something. _ He can’t just sit and wait, or Erik might  _ die. _

Though he might die anyway, whatever Charles does.

The old panic threatens to rise up again, but Charles forces it back down with all the mental strength that he can muster.

_ Focus, _ he tells himself angrily.  _ Focus, for fuck’s sake! _

 

Erik’s condition does indeed alternate between shivering as though trapped in a cooling chamber, and sweating excessively, and Charles once again worries whether he isn’t making matters worse instead of helping.

If only he knew that his memory is correct, and he’s doing the right thing...

Determined to do something, Charles does indeed put cold and wet towels on Erik’s calves in an effort to lower his temperature, always swapping them for new ones after a while, and makes sure to change Erik’s bandages at least every two hours.

Charles can hardly stand stepping away from Erik’s side for even a moment, constantly afraid that Erik will be still, white and cold again if he returns, this time without a heartbeat. He has things to do, however—dress himself, start a fire, collect firewood, eat something, wash and dry the used bandages—which pull him from the bed all too often.

Because Charles has to do everything by himself, the day goes by faster than expected, and by the end of it Erik is still just as hot, unresponsive and restless as in the morning.

Perhaps that’s a good sign, Charles tries reassure himself. At least Erik is still alive. Charles just needs to try and get him through the next day. And then the next. One by one. He can’t think too far ahead. What matters is the here and now.

Charles hesitates a moment before injecting himself with the serum that night. What if he could actually help Erik with his telepathy? Erik is clearly suffering, his mind far away, stuck in some kind of feverish nightmare. Perhaps Charles could drag him back.

And then? Erik would still need Charles to care for him, and Charles wouldn’t be able to do that without the use of his legs. He can’t pull himself across the hut, trying get everything done, and he definitely wouldn’t be able to go outside to collect firewood, which is absolutely essential if they don’t want to freeze to death at some point. Besides, Charles’ legs would fail long before Charles would regain proper control over his powers. There’d be several hours of him being unable to move properly, not to mention probably trapped in Erik’s nightmares without any means of getting out of them himself, forced to share the pain without being able to help. What use would that be to anybody?

Erik’s body is still hot as a furnace when Charles slips under the covers. He keeps his distance this time, not wanting to heat Erik up any further, but he can’t help putting one of his hands flatly to Erik’s chest to feel the reassuring beating of his heart.

Even though Charles is exhausted, he hardly sleeps that night. 

Erik grows increasingly restless over the nightly hours, shifting, twitching, his head rolling from one side to the other, and Charles gets up several times to wipe the sweat away and turn over the blankets.

It’s almost dawn, when Erik starts mumbling unintelligibly, and moaning, quietly at first, but growing louder by the hour. Charles soon finds himself cheek to cheek with the other man, whispering words of comfort into Erik’s ear that he knows won’t get through to him, and gently caressing his sweaty hair and face in an effort to calm him, Erik’s muscles tensing and untensing under his touch.

By the time it’s almost completely light in the hut, Charles can make out single words.

“No…” Erik keeps repeating, his face screwed up in apparent pain. “No, don’t…”

“It’s alright,” Charles whispers back desperately, his hands on both sides of Erik’s face. “It’s alright, Erik. You’re safe.”

He places a soft kiss on Erik’s temple, something he’d never have dared to do if Erik was awake, but he just can’t stop himself now. He just needs to be as close to Erik as possible. He can’t stand seeing Erik in so much pain, and not be close to him. It rips him apart.

“No…” Erik wails again, and Charles throws his arms around him, hugging the other man close, even though his skin is so hot it’s almost unbearable.

Charles can feel the tears welling up inside him, his chest constricting painfully. He’s never felt so terribly powerless and useless before. What he’d give to help Erik, to stop all the pain...

“It’s alright, Erik,” he keeps repeating like a meaningless mantra. “Don’t give up. I’m here. I love you.”

And he knows that it’s true. He knew it before, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. Not until he saw Erik so weak and ill and  _ suffering. _

Oh god, Charles would give anything to lift the pain from Erik’s shoulders. He’d swap with him in an instant just so he didn’t have to see Erik suffer like this anymore.

What else could this be but love?

Every once in a while, something in Erik’s expression changes, and the words tumbling out of his mouth swap from English to German.

“Mama...bleib hier...nein, nein!” Erik tosses his head from side to side, his face screwed up in pain. “Lasst sie los...lasst sie los! Nein!”

Charles can do nothing but stare at Erik’s pained face in horror, the hurt and panic piercing through him as though they were his own, even without his telepathy, silent tears streaming down his face, his hand grabbing Erik’s very tightly.

“Erik…” he sobs. “Erik, it’s okay.”

These worst episodes never last more than a few minutes thankfully, but nevertheless they leave Charles absolutely exhausted. He hardly dares get up and leave Erik’s side anymore, too afraid to leave Erik on his own in his panic and pain, just slipping out of bed to get supplies to treat Erik’s wound, or get some water that he forces down Erik’s protesting throat to keep him hydrated.

Perhaps it’s a good sign Erik’s starting to talk, Charles tells himself, trying to keep himself together emotionally. At least Erik is using his voice, even if he’s still trapped in some kind of parallel universe. It’ll be over soon. It has to be. Erik’s speech becomes clearer after all, the phrases longer and more coherent. That has to mean something. Perhaps the fever is going down after all.

It has to be.

_ Please. _

“You monster. You fucking monster,” Erik mumbles as the light outside starts to fade again.

Charles flinches from the hatred strongly palpable in the mumbling coming from Erik’s mouth.

“Who is a monster, Erik?” Charles whispers into the other man’s ear.

He found earlier that it helps to feign a real conversation with Erik, even if Charles is sure hardly anything of what he says gets through to him. But it helps Charles feel involved, as though he’s actually doing something to help Erik, which makes the whole situation only the tiniest bit more bearable.

“Shaw,” Erik mumbles, and Charles draws back in surprise, staring at Erik’s red and sweaty face.

Not only did it seem as though Erik responded to Charles’ question, but there’s also  _ what _ he said.

_ Shaw? _

“What did he do, Erik?” Charles asks quietly, in a trembling voice.

Erik’s face distorts in pain again, and he lets out a sob.

“Oh god, Erik, what did he do?” Charles hears himself sob too.

“Their bodies,” Erik mumbles, his face still screwed up. “The smell…”

“What smell?” Charles presses out through clenched teeth. One part of him doesn’t want to know, another needs to know everything.

“Burned flesh,” Erik chokes out, his head turning from side to side again, his face distorted. “They’re burning. Mama…”

Charles’ stomach twists into a tight knot, and for a moment he’s sure he’s going to be sick. He grabs Erik’s shoulders very tightly, in an effort to provide support. But what could he possibly do to help?

“He did that?” Charles asks quietly, his voice shaking worse than ever. “Shaw did that?”

Erik doesn’t respond, but his face distorts worse than ever, and he sobs, tears running down his cheeks, becoming one with the film of sweat.

Charles buries his face in Erik’s neck, wrapping his arms tightly around Erik, trying to make him feel protected, comforted. Perhaps, now that Erik seems to at least take in what Charles says, he’ll be feeling the touch too. Perhaps that way Charles can help.

He tries very hard not to think too much about what Erik said. He can do that later, he definitely will ponder over every single word he’s heard later. But now...now he just needs to be there for Erik, who has had terrible things happen to him in the past, and who is reliving them right now.

It takes a while for the twitching in Erik’s limbs, the groaning and the muttering to calm down. By the time Erik’s body seems almost relaxed again, it’s completely dark.

Charles is still clinging tightly to Erik’s body, even after he’s calmed down. They’ve had a few calm moments in the last hours, always followed by more pain, more agitation, and Charles is far too afraid to let the feeling of closeness slip away, even though the heat of Erik’s body is hard to bear.

However, as Erik speaks again in the middle of the night, something is different. He doesn’t seem as tense for one, and he doesn’t shift as much.

“Need him…” Erik mumbles.

Charles lifts his head at once in order to be able to look at Erik better. It’s almost entirely dark in the cabin, but the soft light from the oven window nevertheless illuminates Erik’s face enough for Charles to detect the pained, almost longing expression on the other man’s face.

“Erik?” Charles whispers tentatively. 

It doesn’t look as though Erik is being tortured by horrible memories again, but he nevertheless seems distraught.

“Don’t leave me,” Erik mumbles.

“I won’t,” Charles replies automatically, even though he doubts Erik is talking to him.

A tiny sob escapes Erik’s mouth. “I need him,” he whispers again, desperation in his voice.

Charles can’t help himself. He sits up and holds Erik’s burning face gently in both his hands.

“Who, Erik?” he asks softly. “Who do you need?”

“Charles,” Erik croaks, and Charles’ heart stops for a moment.

He can’t speak, tears welling up inside him, a great lump obstructing his throat.

“I ran,” Erik moans. “I should’ve...I ran…”

“That’s alright,” Charles chokes. “It’s okay, don’t worry. You’re safe now.”

“Charles…” Erik whispers again. “I need...Charles…”

“I’m here,” Charles sobs. “I’m here, Erik.”

For the first time, Erik’s eyes slide slowly open, traveling through the darkness, disoriented, until they find Charles’ face. Charles takes a shaking breath, as Erik’s eyes linger on his, still clouded, still not quite there, but seeing him nevertheless.

“Don’t leave me,” Erik mumbles again, breathlessly, as though the words take all the energy out of him.

“I won’t,” Charles repeats emphatically. “I promise you...I won’t leave you.”

He allows his head to sink against Erik’s, their foreheads touching. He can feel Erik’s now steady breath against his chin.

When he pulls away, after what feels like an eternity, Erik’s eyes are closed again, his face relaxed. As Charles puts a trembling hand to Erik’s chest, he can feel the steady and strong beating of his heart.

Does Erik’s skin feel a little less hot to the touch? Less sweaty?

Charles hardly dares allow himself to hope that they might have reached a turning point, that Erik might finally be getting better again.

What if it’s the other way around? What if all that happens right before someone dies?

Charles presses his body against Erik’s again, wrapping his arms tightly around the other man’s chest once more. He won’t leave Erik. He promised it. If only Erik won’t leave him either.

 

Even though Erik is a lot calmer during that night, Charles still doesn’t sleep, his mind reeling with everything Erik said that day. Erik’s mother, burned bodies, Shaw, and  _ Charles. _ Erik  _ needing _ Charles.

What happened to Erik’s mother? Erik already told him that she was killed, but what did Shaw have to do with it? Charles knew that there was more to it, that there was something Erik was keeping from him—horrors in Erik’s past that he kept hidden. But Shaw...so Captain Shaw had something to do with Erik’s traumatic past? With the murder of Erik’s mother? What happened though? Burned bodies...just the sound of that is absolutely horrifying. Was Shaw responsible for whatever happened? He must be, otherwise he wouldn’t have popped up in Erik’s feverish nightmares, would he? And Erik’s mother…

Charles grasps Erik’s hand tightly, as the memory of Erik’s tortured face resurfaces in his mind.

Charles has never liked Shaw, and even less so since he knew he must have followed Kurt’s order to kill him. Now, however, Charles feels a hatred bubbling up inside his chest that he’s never experienced before. 

It was Shaw who caused Erik all this terrible pain whatever may have happened exactly—and it still tortures Erik. Charles has never wanted to rip somebody limb from limb, he’s always been one to seek out peaceful solutions, but now...he’s not sure what he’d do if Captain Shaw suddenly appeared. He’s never wanted to make anyone pay for anything as badly.

One thing is for definite though. He won’t let Shaw hurt Erik again, even if it kills him. If he gets the chance, if they ever manage to leave this planet and he becomes Emperor, he’ll make sure Shaw is brought to justice for what he did.

Charles lifts a hand and tenderly brushes his thumb over Erik’s cheek. 

Erik doesn’t react, but there’s no doubt now that his skin doesn’t feel quite as hot anymore. His breathing has calmed down too, and his pulse. He’s definitely recovering.

What will happen once Erik wakes again? Will he remember what he said about Charles? About him needing Charles? What does it mean anyway? Is there  _ hope?  _ Hope that there might yet be more between them, even though the last time Charles took a chance Erik turned tail and ran?

Charles tries very hard to get his mind in order, to solve the puzzle that is Erik, but he’s too exhausted, his brain refusing to work properly, and so he gives up.

He might just have to wait and see what Erik does once he comes back to the real world.


	11. 1.11 Erik

The first thing Erik senses is a warm, calming touch on his chest, and the light on his face, dimly shining through his eyelids.

He shifts slightly, and feels that he’s lying on something firm and slightly scratchy.

_ I’m home, _ he thinks. _ I’m in my bed. _

The warm touch wanders upwards and tender hands cup his face.

His mother, surely trying to get him to wake up.

Erik tries to open his eyes to look at her, but his eyelids are too heavy. He must be too tired. Maybe it’s not a school day, maybe he can just go back to sleep for a while. He tries to touch her arm, to signal to her that he’ll just stay in bed for a little while, but his hand barely moves.

It’s the first time he notices how badly his muscles ache.

“Erik?”

Strangely, the voice doesn’t sound like his mother’s at all. It’s deep — a man’s voice — but it’s not his father’s either.

Erik tries to open his eyes again, and slowly, painfully slowly, they obey, though he still has trouble getting them to focus on anything. Everything is a blurry mess of colours.

“Erik. Are you awake? Can you hear me?”

The man’s voice rings loudly in Erik’s ears, the only sensation that is clear and sharp among all the dullness and fuzziness.

_ What are you doing in my house? _ Erik wants to ask, but his tongue is just as heavy as every other muscle in his body.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” the man says in a reassuring voice. “Do you know who I am? It’s me, Charles.”

Charles…

The Crown Prince Charles? Erik’s secret friend whom he talks to at night? Is he still asleep then, dreaming?

“Erik?”

Finally Erik manages to fix his eyes on the person before him, his vision growing clearer at last. 

Red lips are the first thing he recognises, then blue eyes, scruffy reddish stubble on pale, freckly skin.

_ Charles, _ his memory finally falls into place. Charles, in their cabin, on the unknown planet.

It hurts to be ripped away from his parents’ hut as he takes in his surroundings, but not as much as it perhaps should, because Charles is there after all. Erik isn’t alone. The rush of warmth Erik feels at the sight of the other man almost completely drowns out the pain at the realisation that his mother isn’t there, that she’s long dead, and that he isn’t at home at all.

Or maybe he is. It still almost feels like he might be home.

Charles’ lips curl into a soft smile, and Erik finds himself aching to sit up and kiss him.

Is that something they do? The memories are still blurred, the lines between dream and reality misty. Do they kiss? Or did he just dream it? He can’t move anyway, however, his body way too heavy.

“You recognise me?” Charles asks again, quietly.

“Charles…” Erik manages to croak, and Charles smiles again.

“That’s right.” Charles releases a long, shaking breath. “I’m so glad you’re better.”

Better? What happened? Erik is weak, so terribly weak, every muscle in his body feeling as though he’s been beaten with a club. He must have been ill. But for how long?

Already, Erik’s eyelids are starting to get too heavy to keep open, and though he fights against it, fights hard to keep looking at Charles, they slowly slide shut again.

“It’s alright,” he hears Charles’ soft voice, already sounding a hundred miles away again. “Get some more rest. I’ll stay here.”

_ Yes, _ Erik thinks.  _ Stay. Stay with me. _

He’s warm, and safe, and the pain in his body lets up as he softly drifts away again.

 

When Erik wakes again, his mind is a lot clearer, and so are his senses.

It’s dark this time, or almost dark, the tiniest trickle of reddish light shining through the window, illuminating Charles’ face on the sheet next to him. Dawn or dusk, Erik can’t tell.

Charles’ eyes are closed, and his face looks relaxed, though there are dark shadows on the skin underneath his eyes. The exhaustion in his face is apparent even in the semi-darkness. He looks years older than Erik remembers him, though still beautiful.

For how long was Erik out? Did Charles care for him all the while?

Erik tries to move, and his body reacts, shifting slightly, though it still hurts, the weakness in his muscles only too apparent. He’s naked under the blankets, Erik realises. This doesn’t bother him too much at first. They’ve slept naked or almost naked during most nights, for practical reasons. However, he can’t remember getting into bed, so Charles must have undressed him.

What happened? What made him so ill?

Charles sighs very quietly, and Erik’s attention shifts to him just in time to see the Prince’s eyes open slowly.

As Charles notices Erik looking at him, he sits up quickly.

“Erik,” he says, obviously stunned, but relieved. “How are you?”

Erik tries to speak, and, to his own relief, finds that his tongue obeys his command, though the words come only slowly and quietly. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, quite honestly.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Charles asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Not a lot,” Erik says. 

It’s almost true. The pain is bearable, a dull throbbing in his whole body without much sharpness to it, at least for now, though his body still feels as though he won’t be able to move for days. Worse to bear are the blanks in his memory, the fragments that might be dream or reality.

“What happened?” Erik croaks.

Charles hesitates. “You were ill,” he says. “You fell into the river, and...then you got ill.”

“For how long?”

“A few days,” Charles replies.

A few days. Erik was out for a few days. No wonder he feels as though he’s been put through a meat grinder and put back together. And Charles...by the looks of him he hardly slept at all recently.

“You...cared for me,” Erik mutters.

Charles swallows. “Of course. I couldn’t let you die.”

A statement, delivered so matter-of-factly that it shouldn’t make Erik’s heart beat faster, or make warmth spread through him.

“Thank you,” Erik croaks.

Charles shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “Don’t mention it. You’d have done the same for me.”

It’s true, even more so than Charles could possibly imagine. Erik would have fought desperately for Charles’ life. Even the idea of Charles lying there, unresponsive, half-dead, has Erik’s insides in a twist. But Charles, caring for him, terrified that Erik might die, perhaps holding his hand, putting a soft hand on Erik’s cheek...the image shouldn’t make Erik’s heart race like that. There might not even be a lot of truth to it.

Erik feels a blush creep up his neck that has nothing to do with the warmth of the blanket.

“What was I doing in the river?” he asks, in an effort to try and divert Charles’ attention away from his heated face.

Charles licks his lips. “You ran outside in the dark, and tripped. I only just managed to pull you out before the river swept you away.”

Erik frowns. That sounds like an idiotic thing to do. “But why…?”

“Do you want to take a bath?” Charles interrupts him. “It might make you feel better to be clean again.”

Erik can’t quite shake the impression that Charles changed the subject on purpose, but he goes along with it nevertheless. He does feel filthy after all, his skin sticky, and his hair greasy where it’s plastered to his face. He must look absolutely horrible, and not at all appealing to Charles.

Why does that even concern him right now?

After some feeble protest and the crushing realisation that his legs won’t carry him, Erik stays in bed, while Charles lights the oven again, and slips outside to collect some snow for the bath. His arm around Charles’ shoulder Erik manages to get out of bed and half-walk the few steps to the bathtub, though most of his weight rests upon Charles’ shoulders. As they walk Erik tries very hard not to look at his own haggard body. He’s sure he’s never looked as bad in his life.

The bath feels like heaven, the warm water caressing Erik’s skin, helping his aching muscles unwind. It only gets slightly awkward, when Erik realises he’s not flexible enough to wash himself completely, and Charles steps in, a cloth in his hand, to tenderly clean his back, neck, and legs.

Perhaps it’s a good thing Erik’s still so terribly exhausted, Erik catches himself thinking as Charles gently washes his legs. Otherwise he’d have definitely gotten hard at the sight of Charles on his knees right in front of him, his tender fingers on Erik’s legs, and that would have been truly awkward.

Charles changes the sheets before he half-drags Erik back into bed, and then heats up some soup for Erik to drink. The clean sheets feel heavenly under Erik’s body, and the soup warms him up inside and helps his body relax even more. 

By the time Charles has helped Erik spoon up the very last of it, Erik is drowsy and exhausted again, and drifts off to sleep soon after.

 

Every time Erik wakes, he feels a little stronger and more like himself again. Soon he manages to sit up on his own, and eat his food all by himself, much to Charles’ (and his own) delight. Whenever Erik is awake, Charles is by his side, making sure he has everything he needs, only slipping out occasionally to collect firewood or snow, or to visit their forest toilet.

The first time Charles helps Erik out of the cabin into the snow to relieve himself Erik makes a complete and utter fool of himself. 

Charles helps Erik to a tree he can prop himself against, and then walks a few steps to give him some privacy, but Erik can’t help feeling awkward with Charles so close by, and then there’s the cold creeping up on him, and he tries to be quick, but only ends up falling backwards into the snow, trousers down, and Charles has to come and rescue him.

Charles is great about it. He doesn’t say anything, just helps Erik back up, and walks away again, ignoring the way Erik’s cheeks burn bright red.

Charles is amazing like that. Were it any other person Erik would probably push them away and refuse their help, but Charles...Charles doesn’t make him feel weak or dependent, even though Erik knows he is both. Charles is always there, always looking after him, but he doesn’t treat him like some frail old man, or little child. He’s just...there, ready to help when he’s needed, and ready to step back when Erik needs his space.

The situation should still frustrate Erik, it really should. He’s weak and dependent, and he absolutely hates that . H e desperately needs his independence, it’s all he could ever rely on, but he can’t help enjoying Charles’ company, wishing him even closer than he already is, even though, every now and again, the realisation of his own longing still fills him with dread.

Besides all those conflicting emotions, Erik can’t help feeling bad about Charles having to do all the work, while Erik just stays in bed, completely useless. And when does Charles sleep? He’s always still busy when Erik drifts off, and already on his feet when Erik reawakens. He may be the fitter of the two of them at the moment, but there’s no denying the shadows under his eyes or the paleness of his skin. Erik’s illness clearly has taken its toll on Charles too, even though he’s always quick to reassure Erik he’s fine.

“Don’t worry,” Charles says whenever Erik tries to persuade him to lie down and get some rest too. “You’re the one who was ill, not me. We need firewood. I’ll be back soon.”

And he leaves Erik, not only feeling bad about Charles having to work so hard, but also terrified he might get attacked by some wild animal again, and Erik won’t be there to help him.

The stronger Erik gets, the more he gets the impression that Charles is keeping something from him, or rather, that he’s often on the edge of saying something, or perhaps asking something, but decides against it at the very last moment, turning away and busying himself with one thing or another in an attempt to smooth over the awkwardness.

The third evening after Erik woke up, after a rather successful day of regaining his strength and parts of his independence —including his very first solitary walk to their forest toilet—Erik finds he can’t stand it anymore.

“What is it?” Erik asks, taking hold of Charles’ sleeve to stop him from walking away from the bed.

It’s a mark of how much stronger he’s gotten that Charles actually sways a little.

Charles turns, looking puzzled. “What?” 

“There’s something you want to talk about, isn’t there?”

Charles looks sheepish for a moment. “I’m not sure if it’s—” He bites his lip. “You might not want to talk about it. It might be too personal.”

Erik almost manages to contain the dread he feels at those words. There are tons of things he’s not sure he’s ready—or willing—to talk about. Nevertheless he feels he needs to know what this is about—he can’t stand not knowing what’s going on in Charles’ head, especially if it concerns him, Erik. And it must be serious, or Charles wouldn’t have tried to bring it up for days.

“I’ll tell you if I don’t,” Erik replies, trying to keep his voice steady.

Charles hesitates for a fraction of a second before he steps back to the bed, sitting down next to Erik. “When you were ill…” He hesitates, before he goes on. “When you were ill you...talked. A lot.”

“I talked?” Erik raises his eyebrows, trying very hard not to show how fast his heart has started beating at those words.

“Well, yes. It was the fever. You were...somewhere else. And there were things you said that I can’t stop thinking about.”

The expression on Charles’ face is wary, nervous, but curious all the same.

Erik’s swallows. “What kinds of things?”

Charles bites his lip again. “You kept saying...Shaw.”

Even through the sound of blood rushing in his own ears, and the violent twisting of his stomach at the sound of the name, Erik recognises something in Charles’ face—some kind of sadness and deep understanding—that tells him Charles already knows or suspects more than he’s let on so far. Just how much he knows, Erik will need to find out.

“What else?” Erik asks quietly.

“Well...you mentioned your mother a lot and—you seemed very distressed.”

Erik’s mouth is dry. “What else did I say?”

Charles kneads his hands. “I’m not sure if...I don’t want to—I don’t know—bring back painful memories—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Erik interrupts him in spite of himself. “They’re never far away.”

Charles just stares at him, his expression upset.

“What else did I say?” Erik repeats, his teeth clenched. “Charles?”

Charles swallows again. He half-looks as though he doesn’t want to have this conversation after all. He stares at his hands. “You talked about...burnt bodies.”

The ice-cold hand is back—the one trying to rip Erik’s heart out and squeeze all the air out of his lungs. Erik doesn’t know where to look, unable to meet Charles’ eyes, so he stares at the floor.

He told Charles  _ this? _ The memory that shaped him into the person he is today? The most important, all-determining one? The one he kept safely hidden from everyone else?

Erik shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. He lives and breathes that memory, every fucking day of his life. It’s not often in the front of his mind, but it’s never quite gone either. Of course he’d dig it up in his half-conscious state—it wasn’t that far for his mind to reach.

“If you...don’t want to talk about it, I completely—,” Charles begins.

“I do,” Erik interrupts him.

Charles looks just as surprised as Erik feels at his own words.

But there’s no turning back now, is there? Charles is not an idiot, he’ll have connected the dots anyway, but what Erik can do now is make Charles understand just how much of a monster Sebastian Shaw is. What Charles does with the information will be up to him—and perhaps his reaction will show Erik exactly whether he can trust him to make the right choice—or whether Erik will be on his own in case they manage to escape from this planet.

Charles doesn’t say anything to push him, which is probably a good thing. If Erik does this, he’ll do it at his own pace. No rush. He can’t break down. He needs to stay in control. He’ll use his pain and his memories to demonstrate Shaw’s real character, to perhaps—even though that seems unlikely—even gain an ally in Charles, but he won’t cry. Charles needs to understand how essential the information is. How much this all means to Erik, but he also needs to understand how determined Erik is. He’s not suffering quietly, not crying in sadness. He’s furious, and he absorbs his anger, and uses it to fuel his strength. It’s essential that Charles comprehends that no comforting words, no consoling hand on his shoulder will do anything to make things alright again, or change his mind on the matter. They’re not what he’s looking for. 

He’ll need some place to start though, and perhaps he can also gather new information along the way. His goal, his purpose of making Shaw pay for his crimes, has taken a step back over the last days, perhaps weeks, as he got to know Charles a lot better. Charles erased, or rather, blanked out, a lot of the burning anger and force inside Erik. But maybe the two aren’t exclusive.

Maybe Charles  _ can _ be an ally—even if his methods will surely differ from Erik’s.

“What do you know about Shaw?” Erik asks, his voice no longer betraying the turmoil inside him.

Charles takes a moment to gather himself. He still looks upset, but he’s quick to arrange his face into a calm and serene expression to mirror Erik’s.

Good, so Charles took the hint. There’ll be no crying.

“Not a lot,” Charles admits then. “He’s one of Kurt’s—Emperor Marko’s—old friends. I first met him when he became Captain of the fleet...about twelve years ago, I think. I know that he likes to hear himself talk, and enjoys being the centre of attention. I never liked him much,” Charles adds. “He always made me feel...uneasy.”

“So you didn’t see a lot of him?”

“Well, whenever I went into space, he was commanding the ship, and he often came to dinner at the palace, but apart from that...not really. As I said, I know hardly anything about him.”

Erik nods. He’s disappointed that Charles probably won’t be able to offer him a lot of new information, but nevertheless relieved that Charles was apparently clueless about Shaw’s terrible deeds. There’s one more thing he needs to know though, in order to be sure.

“Before Shaw became Captain of the fleet,” Erik begins, working hard to stop his voice from shaking again. “Marko appointed him administrator of the district I lived in with my parents. District 4213. Did you know that?”

He looks sharply at the Prince, determined to detect any lie that might be told.

Charles stares at him, though he almost manages to keep his expression in check. Nevertheless it looks as though some more pieces of the jigsaw in his mind have just fallen into place.

“I knew that he was an administrator, but I didn’t know for which district,” Charles replies.

“And you never heard about the wiping out of a whole village in that district?” Erik can’t help his teeth clenching, his voice sounding strained.

But anger is fine. He can show his anger. Anger doesn’t mean surrender.

This time Charles’ eyes widen in horror, and he can either not do anything to prevent it, or he doesn’t even try.

“No, I’ve never heard that,” he whispers, his voice trembling.

There’s no lie in his eyes. And how should he have known? He was only eleven back then after all.

The muscles in Erik’s jaw hurt, but he can’t help their tensing up. He’s never spoken about this to anybody else before. In the orphanage nobody ever mentioned what had happened. They were either ordered not to talk about it, or they really didn’t know. And after that...Erik never felt the need to talk about it. He cherished the pain and anger in his heart. It was all he had after all, all that kept him going. This is entirely knew, and Erik feels entirely out of his depth.

“He...Shaw.” Erik swallows, and only goes on once he’s sure his voice doesn’t shake anymore. “He gave the order. All adults were shot, the village burnt down. All the children went to orphanages.”

There’s a single tear in one of Charles’ eyes, and real pain, but luckily he doesn’t look at Erik as though pitying him. Perhaps he senses that Erik wouldn’t be able to bear commiseration.

“How old were you?” Charles whispers.

“Eleven,” Erik responds, and he’s glad that his voice sounds so matter-of-fact. “Just like you were. We...share a birthday actually.”

Charles looks surprised at that. “Oh? I thought you were—”

“Older?” Erik raises his eyebrows. It’s an easy mistake to make. Years of anger, hatred and bitterness must have aged Erik. He himself feels older than his age at any rate.  “No, I’m twenty-four—almost twenty-five. Like you.”

It’s a relief to distract himself with unimportant prattle like that for a moment. It gives him the chance to breathe for a moment, though Erik knows he’s not done yet. He’s started talking about this, and he’ll finish it.

“I spent almost seven years in an orphanage,” Erik begins again, and Charles straightens up again, looking at him intently. “Because of a rumour. There was a rumour that someone in our village was planning to dispossess Shaw in some way. I don’t know if it was true. Shaw didn’t bother to investigate. He just had everyone killed.”

Charles takes a shaking breath. He looks as though he’s struggling with himself, perhaps trying to stop himself from hugging Erik or putting a hand on his back. Erik’s glad he’s doing neither. His self-control is hanging by a thread, which could be snapped by any attempt of Charles’ to break through Erik’s emotional barriers.

He’s not going to cry.

“What happened to you then?” Charles asks quietly.

“I...scratched along, I guess,” Erik replies, his eyes fixed on the crackling fire visible through the oven window. He hesitates for a moment, unsure how honest he wants to be, but then plunges on. “I tried to find a way to meet Shaw again. I practiced controlling my mutation, especially how it could be used as a weapon. I knew Shaw was Captain of the fleet, so I tried to get in. It was...tough, but in the end I managed to get someone to take me on and train me on the basics of space travel.”

Even though Erik keeps looking at the fire, he can feel Charles’ eyes on him. He doesn’t dare check to see whether the look on Charles’ face is shocked or disapproving, however. He’s desperate for Charles to understand the need burning in his chest. If Charles doesn’t understand—

“You were planning to kill him, weren’t you?” Charles asks quietly.

Erik, hopeful at the lack of deprecation in Charles’ voice, finally allows his eyes to search Charles’ face.

It’s hard to read, but there’s no shock or revulsion in his eyes, even though his jaw is set.

“Yes,” Erik replies honestly. “He needs to pay.”

Charles’ eyes don’t leave Erik’s for even a second. “He will,” Charles says, his voice steady, determined. “I promise you, if we find a way to leave this planet, and if I become Emperor, he will pay. He’ll be put on trial, everyone will know what he did, and then he’ll rot in a cell until he dies alone, and nobody will shed a tear.”

Erik is unable to draw his eyes away from Charles’. There’s a fire burning in the Prince’s blue ones that Erik has never seen before. He’s not lying, that much is clear. It’s a promise that won’t be broken. Erik has no doubt about that.

After what feels like an eternity, Charles breaks the eye contact, and stares across the room, not really seeing anything, but obviously lost in thought.

“He decided to let you come close,” Charles murmurs then. “In order to finish you once and for all.”

“What do you mean?” Erik asks quickly.

“Shaw obviously knew who you were,” Charles explains. “That’s why he chose you to fly the shuttle. He was killing two birds with one stone.”

Erik nods. Those were his exact thoughts after the shuttle crashed, though he still doesn’t understand  _ how  _ Shaw could have known.

“Emma Frost,” Charles mutters.

“Sorry?”

“Emma Frost,” Charles repeats, more loudly this time. “I suppose you were interviewed by a lady in white?”

“Yes, I was, but—”

“She’s a telepath.” Charles grimaces. “She vets all new employees. I bet she got all the information out of your mind.”

Erik can only stare at him, stunned. 

A telepath...how didn’t he think of telepaths? She didn’t have a mark, he’s sure of it, because he’s made it a habit to check for mutant marks, and she definitely didn’t have one. Though that was probably intentional, wasn’t it? People weren’t supposed to know they were being mind-read and checked after all.

“Shit,” Erik mutters, burying his face in his hands. “How did I not think of that? A fucking telepath…”

There’s something creepy about the idea of telepathy, being mind-read and possibly mind-controlled, and Erik can’t help feeling resentful towards this Emma Frost, even though he usually feels loyalty, or even a sort of connection to other mutants. This Emma Frost, however, betrayed him, her fellow mutant, in the worst way possible, even though she must have read the truth about Shaw in his mind too. 

Or didn’t she? Erik doesn’t know a lot about the possibilities and restrictions of telepathy. How much of his mind would she see? Would she have to dig deep in order to find the memory? If she was looking for bad intentions and lies in Erik’s mind, would she perhaps not even have stumbled across the memory?

As Erik finally looks back at Charles he notices the painful expression on the other man’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, taken aback.

Charles startles. “Sorry, I was just...it’s all a bit hard to digest. I can’t stand the injustice. I desperately want to do something about it right now, but all we can do is wait, and—” He sighs. “I can’t bear the thought that I might never be able to put things right again.”

They fall silent, both lost in their own thoughts.

They haven’t talked about their chances of leaving since they discovered the telegraph. It hasn’t caught any signals at all since that day, and at some point they’ll run out of fuel, and that’ll be the end of any hope they might have of being rescued.

Perhaps the signal is weaker than Erik thought? Or perhaps this part of the galaxy is far from usual space travel routes?

How likely is it that a ship will pass close enough for them to catch its signal?

The light outside their window has changed from white to orange by now, the day clearly coming to an end. 

Charles’ eyes are closed, but his face doesn’t look relaxed but afflicted. Perhaps he’s having the same hopeless thoughts as Erik. It’s hardly bearable, seeing Charles like that, and Erik finds himself casting around for a lighter subject, something to distract Charles with.

“Can I ask you something?”

Charles’ eyes pop open, and he nods. “Sure.”

“The first time I met you you seemed completely clueless what a cabin boy does. Was that just an act?”

Charles actually chuckles. “Partly, yeah. I wanted to get you to talk, but it didn’t really work, did it? Although I have to admit that I really was a bit lost at the time, and that I was never passionate about space travel in itself.”

“You weren’t?”

Charles shakes his head. “After my accident I just didn’t trust it anymore. Being on a ship always made me feel uneasy and somewhat unsafe. A bad attribute for the Emperor of the galaxy, I know,” he adds with a crooked smile.

Erik smiles. “I’m sure you’d make up for that in some way.”

Charles sighs. “I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I never wanted to be Emperor. I dreaded it. I suppose that’s partly the reason why I failed to see what a terrible sovereign Kurt is—I was glad he was in charge, because it meant I didn’t have to be. Though I regret that now. I was a coward.”

They fall silent again for a moment, before Charles speaks again.

“I always wanted to be a teacher. You know, not tell people what to do, but help them figure out what it is they  _ want _ to do, ignite their passion for knowledge. I always wanted to know everything when I was a kid—I still do.”

“You’d make a great teacher,” Erik says earnestly. 

He can almost picture it in front of his inner eye, Charles surrounded by students hanging onto his every word. The image makes him smile, warmth spreading through him as he pictures Charles patiently listening to and answering questions.

“Thank you,” Charles says softly, also smiling. “That means a lot.”

 

They retire to bed not long after, but Erik doesn’t fall asleep for a while. His arm is draped loosely over Charles body, and he can feel the slow movement of the other man’s chest as he breathes in and out.

To his own surprise Erik finds that he doesn’t regret anything about the conversation they had. He was worried about revealing his most painful, and yet most indispensable memory of all, but once again he doesn’t feel like it has been taken away from him.

Charles doesn’t hate him for his wish to make Shaw pay, even though his approach would be a lot less violent. Erik doesn’t even feel frustrated at Charles’ response. It would be wrong for Charles to call for Shaw’s execution. It’s not who Charles is, and—even though it’s scary to admit it—it’s why Erik loves him.

Charles embodies all the hope that there’s still goodness in the universe that Erik doesn’t have, but he’s not naive. He doesn’t think Shaw will change, and neither does he think Kurt Marko will turn out to be a better man. He knows they need to be stopped and punished for their crimes, only his idea of punishment doesn’t quite fit Erik’s.

But Charles understands.

Overcome by a sudden need to be closer to Charles, to breathe him in, Erik edges closer, carefully burying his nose into the Prince’s hair without waking him.

How good would it be to be able to trust that there’s a future for them, outside of this planet. The fear that everything might break apart as soon as they’re saved almost makes Erik wish they’ll never get away, if it means he and Charles can stay together forever. But will Erik ever be able to rest as long as he knows that Shaw is still out there, still free, after everything that he’s done? It won’t ever leave him alone, will it? And even though Erik never thought that there’d ever be such a thing as peace for him, he might be able to come to rest if only he knew Shaw, Marko, and all those other men had paid for what they did. He can’t just let that slide. It’ll haunt him forever, he knows it.

And anyway—what is he hoping for? For them to stay together like this, close and yet far apart? Erik’s illness and his subsequent weakness calmed the waves between them somewhat, but they’re growing stronger again—all the unbearable longing and desire is already creeping back slowly as Erik strengthens, to torture him once more. At some point Erik knows he won’t be able to bear it anymore, and he’ll either run as he did last time—he remembers that now, even though Charles, probably out of embarrassment, didn’t tell him—or he’ll give in to his desires and then…

What then?

For some reason the idea seems much less scary now. If Erik’s memory is correct, Charles made a step forward the night Erik ran. Charles wanted him. If he still does is a different matter, but at least he definitely cares for Erik. He completely exhausted himself trying to save Erik’s life after all, and he’s been a good friend, the best Erik ever had.

And Erik trusts Charles, he really does. For all the barriers he put up against trusting the Prince, they were all washed away by Charles’ kindness and...goodness, however cheesy that may sound. Erik trusted Charles with his brightest and darkest memories, and Charles treasured them and held them carefully. Charles won’t stand in Erik’s way, he won’t betray him, so why the hesitation? Charles has his mistakes, as they all do, but nevertheless he is…

Not even in his mind does Erik find words to describe what Charles is to him.

_ I love him, _ he thinks.  _ I don’t need more words than that. _

But does Charles love him back? Or does Charles simply care about him and like him as a friend and companion? Erik doesn’t think Charles would be opposed to sex, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, since they’ve been on their own for some time now and both clearly starved of physical contact.

Would Erik be able to bear Charles touching him, while knowing he doesn’t mean as much to Charles as Charles means to Erik? The idea of not seeing the same love in Charles’ eyes reflected back at him that Erik feels for Charles as they touch each other, makes Erik’s stomach twist.

Hasn’t he got to at least try though? 

Erik knows he’s not a very loveable person, nobody but his mother and father have loved him so far, but perhaps Charles—good and kind Charles of all people—will find it in himself to love him back? Not just take pity on him, but truly love him? And if he doesn’t...what has Erik got to lose? Charles won’t hate him for trying.

Why not make the best of their time here, when it’s so uncertain what’ll happen once they leave—if they manage to leave—this planet? 

Why not take a chance for once?


	12. 1.12 Charles

To Charles’ immense relief Erik recovers much more quickly than Charles would have thought possible, and is almost back to being himself again within a few days. 

At first Charles can’t quite shake the wariness that Erik’s recovery might just be temporary, and that he’ll soon be back to feverish nightmares, to sweating and shivering in turn, but the stronger Erik gets the less likely that feels. Nevertheless, it’s tough for Charles to try and get the images of Erik half-dead out of his mind, and to refrain from surreptitiously putting a hand over the other man’s heart at night, to feel the reassuring thumping of life.

Erik recovering means Charles doesn’t have to constantly watch over him, or help him with every small task, even though Charles still categorically refuses to allow Erik help him collect firewood in fear of the other man overexerting himself, and possibly collapsing again. Even though Erik’s growing independence is a relief in a lot of ways, Charles can’t deny that he misses having an innocent reason to be so close to Erik, and touch him — especially since the memory of the last time Charles took a chance to try and be close to Erik in another sense makes him wary of trying again.

None of Charles’ feelings towards Erik have changed, perhaps they’ve even intensified in the hours of fearing for the other man’s life, and none of the longing has faded either. As long as Erik was ill and weak, it was merely a longing to hold and protect, but now that Erik is regaining his strength again, the almost-painful physical desire is making a return too.

There’s no denying that something has once more changed between them too, something in Erik’s behaviour towards Charles. Before Erik’s illness, Charles sometimes found Erik difficult to read and understand. One moment the man could be full of warmth, the next he’d be withdrawn and cold in his demeanor, and Charles could never quite get his head around what caused the sudden change. Now, there’s no more coldness in Erik’s face. He still has moments when he seems more withdrawn, like that time he told Charles about his parents’ deaths, but as far as Charles can tell they have nothing to do with distrust or dislike, and are only a means of self-control, which Charles understands only too well.

The changes in Erik’s behaviour almost make Charles hope again that there might be something more than respect and companionship between them —something he even felt and dared to hope before Erik’s illness, but which was shattered the night that Erik ran. Even though Charles longs to be close to Erik in every sense of the word, he can’t quite bring himself to take another chance, the memories of the catastrophic consequences of the last time still too painful in his mind.

Nevertheless the hope doesn’t die away, fed by warm smiles and casual touches during the day, by intense glances that Erik throws him, that almost make Charles move forward and press his lips to the other man’s. 

Almost. Because he can’t quite forget the horrified look on Erik’s face as he saw Charles waiting for him in the cabin, completely naked. Panicked. Terrified.

And Charles doesn’t even know whether Erik remembers the incident. He didn’t when he woke up in any case.

It’s the hope in Charles’ heart that makes him overanalyse every word that Erik says, every glance, every laugh and smile, trying to figure out whether he may dare take another step forward without being rejected again. His level of confidence surges up sometimes when they sit together, playing chess, laughing, then falters again in moments of silence, or when he’s alone in the forest, though it never quite goes away.

_ There is something, there must be, _ he keeps repeating over and over in his head.  _ I’m not getting this wrong. There really is something between us. _

And in the next moment he reminds himself that he was never great at reading people without his telepathy, that he shouldn’t get swept away by emotion because if his mutation has taught him one thing it’s that people’s actions and behaviour very often don’t match their desires and opinions. How often have people tried to charm him, while secretly loathing and scorning him. As much as Charles wants to believe that Erik is different, that he’s _ real _ and  _ honest, _ he can’t quite help the little voice in the back of his mind telling him not to be naive, to be cautious, because there’s a lot for Erik to gain by charming Charles, isn’t there?

Right now, on this planet, there’s no difference between them. They’re equals in their struggle for survival, looking after one another, neither the servant of the other.

But what will happen in case they get rescued? What will become of them if Charles really takes his father’s place as Emperor of the universe? Erik wants justice for his parents, he wants Shaw to pay for his crimes, and he’s already made Charles promise he’ll help him, but of course being friends with Charles, or even more than that, will be an advantage in other ways too. Most people Charles has ever spoken to have only ever thought about how they could manipulate him in order to get what they wanted.

Is Erik really different? Is Charles perhaps just making himself believe that Erik might be that one person he’s ever longed for in his life —someone who likes him for who he is as a person and not the office he holds—because he’s desperate and without his telepathy to protect himself from being lied to?

Charles is lying awake one night, staring at what’s visible of Erik’s shoulder blades in the dim light cast by the oven, his arm draped loosely over Erik’s torso, contemplating all these questions and trying to figure out what to do, when something suddenly, unexpectedly, touches his hand, hidden out of sight behind Erik’s body, and he jerks in surprise. The touch disappears at once, and Charles feels Erik’s muscles tense underneath his arm.

Before Charles can properly comprehend what’s going on, however, the touch is back, light and tender, a soft caress over the back of his hand, fingers tenderly stroking along Charles’ own. 

Charles can barely breathe for astonishment and  _ hope. _

This has to mean what he thinks it means, it simply  _ has _ to. Or is he just imagining things? Is his desperate mind playing tricks on him? Is Erik awake? Was the touch intentional?

Holding his breath, his heart racing in his chest, Charles carefully closes his hand around Erik’s, allowing his thumb to brush along the rough and calloused skin.

He can hear Erik suck in a shaking breath.

Heartened, Charles edges a bit closer, softly touching his nose to Erik’s hair, then pressing a light, almost imperceptible kiss to his neck.

Erik shivers slightly, pulling Charles’ arm more tightly around him until Charles’ fingers brush along the skin on Erik’s chest. 

It’s Charles’ turn to suck in a breath as Erik guides Charles’ hand higher, then presses light kisses to his knuckles.

The touch is gentle and soft, so it shouldn’t make Charles’ heart beat as fast as it does, and it shouldn’t make his cock harden either. Everything they’ve done so far has been positively chaste—nothing more than tender caresses and soft kisses—and yet the intention behind the touches couldn’t be clearer, especially as Erik stops kissing Charles’ hand again, instead guiding it over the skin on his chest again, Charles stretching out trembling fingers to trail along warm, soft skin and hair.

They both gasp almost inaudibly as Charles’ thumb brushes one of Erik’s nipples, Charles pressing his lips back to Erik’s neck, but Erik doesn’t linger there. Soon, the tips of Charles’ fingers, lead by Erik’s hand, touch the trail of hair underneath Erik’s navel, and Charles can’t prevent a ridiculous choking sound from leaving his mouth.

Erik stops there—perhaps worried of forcing Charles into something he doesn’t want—but Charles presses a soft kiss to his neck, softly nudging his hand with his thumb, and Erik releases a shaking breath, before recommencing the movement further downwards, though this time aided by Charles’ hand finding its own way. Soon they reach the waistband of Erik’s boxers, but they don’t stop there. Charles’ heart is beating so furiously he’s almost sure Erik must be able to hear it, as their fingers slip underneath the fabric, and the tips of Charles’ fingers brush against something warm and firm.

Charles groans as he finally allows his fingers to curl around Erik’s hard cock, and at the same time shifts forward, until his own cock is flush against Erik’s arse, only separated by the fabric of their respective underwear.

The sound escaping Erik’s throat as Charles tentatively rolls his hips washes away any doubts Charles might have still had, instantly replaced by sheer, animalistic lust.

It’s been so long since he’s been this close to another person, so long since he last touched another man’s cock, and this is  _ Erik’s _ cock under his fingers,  _ Erik’s _ arse so warm and perfect against Charles’ cock, and how could Charles turn away now, when this is everything he has dreamt about for  _ weeks. _

Erik gasps as Charles tightens his grip on his cock, and starts to slowly move his hand up and down, while pulling himself even closer, slowly moving his hips against Erik’s arse, allowing his cock to slide through the crack, the friction sending spark after delicious spark up his spine.

They both desperately try to control themselves, try to delay the moment when it’ll all be over again, by moving slowly, though jaggedly, even though the desire to move faster and harder is overwhelming.

It doesn’t take long for both of them to quiver and moan, covered in sweat, and then Charles can’t stop himself anymore. He fastens his pace, rubbing his cock against Erik’s arse faster and harder, groaning loudly at every thrust, and Erik, too, can’t hold himself back any longer, grabbing Charles’ wrist tightly,  aiding him in his movements, Erik’s cock swelling in his hands, until—

Erik shudders in Charles’ arms as he comes, his hips pushing back against Charles’, which sends Charles over the edge too. White-hot pleasure shoots through him, and the muscles in his arms contract, pulling Erik into an ever tighter embrace.

Charles buries his face into Erik’s neck, his breathing ragged and shaky, inhaling the light scent of sweat and skin and  _ sex.  _ He doubts he’s ever felt as sated and spent in his life. He just wants to lie there now, hold on to Erik, breathe him in, and never get up again.

After a moment, Erik lets go of Charles’ wrist, and Charles slowly, reluctantly, removes it from Erik’s pants, splaying it instead across Erik’s chest, allowing himself to be swept away by the hard and fast beating of Erik’s heart underneath his fingers, only slowly calming down again.

Before Erik’s heart rate has returned to normal, however, Charles has already drifted off again.

 

When Charles wakes the next morning, he finds Erik’s face right in front of his, Erik’s eyes regarding him with warmth, but also something like concern.

“Good morning,” Charles mumbles, his lips curling into a small smile at the memory of the night before.

“Morning,” Erik replies, the shadow of a smile on his lips, but his eyes still looking slightly apprehensive.

Charles thinks he knows what’s on the other man’s mind. They didn’t talk last night after they had sex, and they didn’t look each other in the eye even once. Charles can’t pretend he’s not a little nervous himself, but the memory of Erik guiding his hand towards his cock still burns brightly in his mind.

There’s no way this was an accident.

“Here we are then,” Charles says after a moment of silence, trying to lighten the tension a bit. 

“Yes,” Erik replies, swallowing, his eyes not leaving Charles’ face. “I guess.”

Charles takes a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know that to me last night wasn’t a mistake. I wanted it, and I enjoyed it immensely. I just hope you feel the same way…” Charles adds tentatively.

Erik exhales a long and shaking breath. The tension ebbing away from him is almost palpable.

“I do,” he says, his voice trembling. “I really do. I didn’t know—but I do.”

Charles’ heart is already back to racing again at the look of immense relief on Erik’s face. He knew Erik had wanted it, but he couldn’t have guessed just  _ how much _ Erik wanted it. Just as much as he, Charles, did. They realisation makes him feel lightheaded and dizzy.

It’s alright. They’re not misunderstanding each other. They’re going to be okay.

“I—” Charles swallows. “I’ve wanted this for a long time…”

Erik’s eyes still don’t leave Charles’ for a second. “Me too. I just...I was too scared of it, too scared of losing myself.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I ran that night, Charles. It was stupid. I wasn’t even running from you, I think. I was...running from myself.”

There’s a large lump in Charles’ throat that won’t go away no matter how much he swallows. He suspected this—hoped it—but hearing it out of Erik’s mouth finally makes it real.

“But you’re not running anymore,” Charles manages to croak.

Erik shakes his head, his eyes gleaming. “No. No, I’m not. I…” He hesitates. “I love you, Charles,” he says very quietly.

Right after he’s spoken Erik’s expression turn to one of surprise and terror at his own courage, his cheeks flushing pink. His eyes search Charles’ face nervously, as though determined to catch every tiny movement or clue in it.

Charles is stunned for a moment, unable to think properly, his blood pounding in his ears, his heart beating so hard it appears to be trying to escape from his chest. 

Then he laughs, incredulous, overwhelmed, he just laughs, as the truth finally trickles into his brain.

Erik said he loves him. Erik, of all people! Grumpy, taciturn, soft and wonderful Erik.

Charles catches himself just in time to see Erik’s face falling, the flush ebbing away, his eyes looking away for the first time, as he surely tries to protect himself against seeming ridicule. 

Quickly Charles leans over and presses a soft kiss to Erik’s lips. Their first kiss, he only realises as he draws back again.

“I’m sorry, Erik. I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m just...overwhelmed. I never thought you’d—I love you too. I’ve loved you for a while, and—I can’t believe this.”

They just stare at each other for a moment, before Erik lifts himself up to press a kiss to Charles’ lips in turn, though this time it’s not chaste at all. It’s hungry, and desperate, and eager, and overwhelming, and  _ perfect,  _ making Charles gasp in surprise and want.

Within no time, Erik is on top of Charles, in between his legs, and they’re exchanging more heated kisses, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths, their hands roaming each other’s bodies like they’d have never dreamt they would, trying to touch every single bit of skin, and yet too impatient to linger anywhere for long. Their underwear is shed quickly, and finally—after so much time of being close to each other, but unable to properly touch—they slide against one another completely naked and unafraid.

Charles’ hands explore Erik’s back, his chest, his face and hair, his arms, until he finally allows them to wander downwards to Erik’s arse, cupping the other man’s cheeks and causing him to groan in a way that makes Charles dizzy with desire.

Erik’s hands are occupied with holding himself up, but Erik makes up for it by putting his mouth to good use,  kissing along Charles’ jawline, down his neck, and finally sucking on his collarbone, which reduces Charles’ to a moaning and gasping mess within a ridiculously short amount of time.

When Charles almost can’t stand it anymore, he grasps Erik’s arse cheeks more tightly, and Erik  _ grinds _ against him, causing their cocks to slide against each other’s abdomens and drawing deep groans from both their mouths.

_ If only we had lube, _ Charles catches himself thinking in his daze. Oh, the things he wants to do to Erik, and have done to himself in return. But they don’t have anything of the sort. No oil, no vaseline, nothing.

How is it possible goddamn  _ lube _ is the one thing the villagers didn’t own? Didn’t they have sex, for crying out loud!

Erik seems to be thinking along the same lines.

“God, would I like to fuck you,” he moans into Charles’ ear, causing Charles to make a choked sound and grab Erik’s arse even more tightly. “Do we really have nothing? No—”

“No,” Charles gasps back. “No, we don’t. If we had...lord, would I let you fuck me too.”

Erik sucks in the sharpest of breaths at that, drawing back an inch to stare at Charles’ face in wonder and unconcealed desire, his lips red and swollen from kissing him, his eyes dark.

“What?” Charles asks, trying to pull him back into a kiss impatiently.

“I love it when filthy words come out of your posh mouth, your Majesty.”

Charles’ laugh is swallowed by Erik’s mouth capturing him in another heated kiss.

They don’t talk any more after that, both too intent on making the other moan and quiver under the touch of their hands, lips, and tongues to have time to speak, dirty or not.

As Charles finally wraps a hand around both their cocks, holding them together, and Erik starts thrusting in earnest, Charles can barely think anymore for the friction causing waves of pleasure to roll through him. The sensation intensifies, carrying him higher and higher, and just before his climax hits him, Charles opens his eyes, to look into Erik’s flushed and sweaty face, and feels a rush of love for the other man that pushes him right over the edge, calling out Erik’s name.

 

After their breathing has calmed down and Erik has rolled off of him (much to Charles’ dismay), they just look at each other for what seems like hours, Erik propped up on his elbows, Charles on his back.

It seems as though the last barrier between them has been taken down. They’ve joked with each other, teased each other like they’ve never done before, and the memory fills Charles with more warmth and happiness than he could possibly describe in words. 

Plus, Erik’s revealed a completely new side of himself.

“I didn’t know you liked dirty talk,” Charles says with a grin.

Erik chuckles. “I didn’t know  _ you _ liked dirty talk. Noble Prince that you are.”

Charles hits him playfully in the arm.

Erik looks suddenly worried. “You didn’t mind me calling you that, did you? ‘Your Majesty’, I mean. You don’t feel I’m...mocking you?”

“Did you get the impression that I did? No, don’t worry. As long as it’s only teasing.” Charles smiles. “I have a friend who calls me ‘your Majesty’ as a joke, actually. Though he’s technically legally obligated to call me that, but if we’re alone, he only ever uses it to tease me.”

“What kind of friend?”

“Oh, he’s my bodyguard actually, but he’s also my best friend. One of the few people I truly trust in the palace.”

“You’ve never mentioned him,” Erik says with a frown.

“No,” Charles agrees, also frowning. “I don’t know why though. I missed him a lot at first, but now...they all seem so far away, don’t they? As though they don’t really exist anymore.” He catches himself, suddenly angry at his own thoughtlessness. “Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say, when you don’t actually have anyone—”

Erik puts a soothing hand on Charles’ shoulder. “It’s alright. Don’t worry.” He looks thoughtful. “What’s his name? Your bodyguard’s, I mean,” he adds in response to Charles’ puzzled expression.

“Oh. Logan. Logan Howlett.”

“Do I need to be jealous of Logan Howlett?” Erik asks. His tone is teasing, but there’s real curiosity, as well as some concern palpable in his voice.

Charles thinks of the few nights he and Logan spent together, when Charles was so desperately touch-starved he couldn’t take it any longer, of the awkwardness in the mornings and their mutual desire to put the event past them and move on as friends.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “You definitely don’t. At least not anymore.”

 

They stay in bed for a little while longer, just content to be together, getting up only once they realise how cold their cabin has already become with the oven having gone out a long time ago.

Erik starts a fire, while Charles collects some snow, and soon they’re sitting crammed in the bathtub together, both hardly able to move with their legs pressed against each other.

“This bathtub isn’t built for two people,” Erik notes wisely.

Charles snorts, trying to splash at Erik, but hardly getting his hands deeply enough into the water for the jumble of limbs. “It was your idea.”

Erik grins. “It was a good idea. Come here, let me wash you.”

It’s strange how everything that would have been awkward only a few hours earlier—like rubbing soap into each other’s hair and chests—now seems like the most normal thing in the world. It’s as though they’ve known each other for ages, and are entirely familiar with each others quirks and habits.

But they do know each other, Charles reminds himself. They have spent so much time together and have gotten to know each other better than perhaps any other person in their lives. They just needed to take the last step, the last hurdle to get where they are now.

It’s a good place, a very good place. For the moment.

Charles is giddy with happiness, light-headed, drunk on their love, and he can tell that Erik is too. Stony-faced, distant Erik has turned into a grinning, laughing, teasing man at least for now, because he, too, got something he thought he couldn’t have.

Is it advisable to let their good spirits run away with them like that, when they are in fact trapped in a rather hopeless situation?

The reality of their situation will soon enough catch up with them though. Why not enjoy their moment of giddy happiness and carefreeness as long as it’s there? It won’t change anything about their situation in the long run after all.

 

They end up kissing and making out again in the middle of the room, right in front of the oven, then prepare their food still completely naked, and in silence, Charles sitting with his head on Erik’s shoulder.

The fact that they have to open two of the very last tins of food definitely puts a first damper on their spirits.

“Do you think you could hunt down animals with that arrow of yours?” Charles asks thoughtfully after they’ve cleaned out their tins and thrown them onto the pile of metal next to the oven—to be used in some way, shape or form later.

Erik presses a soft kiss to Charles’ forehead. “Yes, I’m sure I could. And I will if I have to. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry…

For some reason Charles finds he doesn’t worry. Not anymore. Not right now. He was so desperate to leave this planet, to make sure Raven and Logan are okay, and now...perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he can’t help thinking that he’s never been happier than he is at this very moment, alone with Erik, in their tiny, primitive hut. What if they were never found, and had to stay here forever?

The idea doesn’t seem as scary as it did before. They’d have each other after all, and they wouldn’t have to worry about all evils of the universe, safe in their own little secluded part of it…

Charles’ eyes incidentally fall on the little leather bag lying in a corner of the room, and he feels as though having been dunked head first into ice-cold water.

Even without checking the bag he knows that there are only two vials of serum left. One for tonight, one for two nights later, and after that...everything will be different.

He always knew it would come at some point, but he was successful in pushing it away all the same. Now, however, now that he’s made himself believe for a moment that there are no more barriers between him and Erik, only to realise that he’s been lying both to himself and Erik, the realisation that the largest, most insurmountable barrier of them all is still firmly in place, threatening to crush him in only a few days time.

What will Erik say once he finds out? It doesn’t seem as though he likes telepaths much—like most people—judging by his reaction to Charles telling him about Emma Frost, and his experience with her gives Erik reason to mistrust them. But perhaps his telepathy isn’t the worst thing. What will Erik do once Charles loses not only the use of his legs, but also all sensation in his lower body, including his genitals? And so soon after they’ve finally allowed themselves to give in to their desires?

Not to mention that there’s the whole aspect of going to the toilet as a paraplegic, that Charles found incredibly difficult to deal with during those few months before Hank discovered the serum’s side effect of temporarily restoring Charles spinal cord. Yes, he has medication and catheters to deal with his bladder and bowel problem, but they won’t last for very long. They’re only in the kit in the first place because Hank forced them on him, even though Charles never wanted to deal with them again.

How can Charles possibly tell Erik that in only four short days he’ll turn into a helpless immobile telepath who isn’t able to have normal sex, and needs a little tube to pee?

_ Why _ didn’t he tell Erik before? It seems wrong now, as though he’s tricked Erik into falling in love with him by keeping hidden the darker half of who he is. But what if he had told Erik? Would Erik still have cared for and looked after him? Or would he have dropped him right away?

_ No, he wouldn’t, _ a defiant voice in Charles’ mind says.  _ Erik’s a good man, he wouldn’t have done that. _

Now, however, after all this time of Charles not trusting him enough, even after Erik revealed his own darkest secret, after Charles making Erik fall in love with a version of himself that’ll soon disappear, to be replaced by someone much less loveable in many ways, Charles would deserve to be dropped.

“Are you okay?” Erik’s voice brings Charles back to reality as sharply as a slap to the face, even though or perhaps because there’s nothing but warmth and concern in it.

Charles can’t keep it from Erik anymore. It wouldn’t be fair on Erik. He can’t. He has to say something.

Charles swallows. “There’s...something I have to tell you.”

Erik’s brows furrow in light concern, but he doesn’t say anything, waiting for Charles to go on.

Charles takes a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of a...serum to inhibit mutant abilities?”

Erik’s eyes darken. “I’ve heard a rumour,” he says. “I’ve heard they were developing a kind of  _ ‘cure’ _ for mutants.” He speaks the word with so much derision that it makes the hairs on the back of Charles’ neck stand up. “It’s true then? They’re trying to control mutants by taking away our powers?”

“No,” Charles says quickly, then, after a moment’s consideration and a painful lurch of his stomach he adds “I don’t know. It exists, yes, but only a few mutants have tried it so far—”

“You mean,  _ your people _ have only  _ tried _ it on a few mutants so far.”

Erik using ‘your people’ instead of ‘they’ doesn’t bode well, and Charles feels once again trapped, unable to escape his own affiliation with the palace—perhaps rightly so. And it isn’t completely false either. Kurt definitely talked him into taking it in the first place.

“I didn’t,” Charles mumbles, his cheeks burning. “I swear, I didn’t force anyone to do anything. All mutants that took it so far did it of their own volition. The man who developed it—Hank McCoy—is actually a mutant himself. He came up with it to control his own physical mutation, because he suffered from the looks people gave him.” Charles swallows. “Though I see now that you’re probably right and Kurt is planning to use it on other mutants as well—perhaps against their will.”

Charles risks a glance at Erik and sees that his jaw is clenched tightly, all lightheadedness from earlier wiped away completely.

Charles could hit himself. He should have known the serum would be a touchy subject what with Erik’s pride in being a mutant and his anger of their mistreatment in the Empire. How on earth is Charles supposed to tell him now that he himself took it—is still taking it every other night?

“Maybe they won’t even have to,” Erik presses out through clenched teeth. “They’re making us mutants feel ashamed of who we are, so we’ll take their fucking  _ medicine _ of our own accord in order to be _ normal.” _

Charles is glad to note the return of ‘they’ instead of ‘your people’, but he knows this conversation isn’t over yet, and that Erik might well despise him by the end of it—especially since a lot of what Erik just said applies to Charles.

“What would you—” Charles begins, but then he hesitates, unsure of how best to approach the problem. “What do you think of other mutants choosing to take the serum in order to control their mutation?”

Erik stares darkly into the oven window. “I think it’s wrong, badly wrong. It sends the wrong message, both to humans and other mutants. I think we should be proud of being different—of being _better._ Not try to be like ordinary people, boring and _normal.”_ He blinks, and then turns to look at Charles again, as though only now remembering where he is and who he is talking to. “Sorry,” he says quietly, looking upset. “I didn’t mean—I don’t think any less of you for being human, and I know none of this is your fault. I shouldn't have—I love you, Charles. It’s just...Can we talk about something else?”

Charles opens his mouth to speak, to object, determined to say what he needs to say, but seeing the exhausted, pained look on Erik’s face, he closes it again, and nods. 

He can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t have this uncomfortable, emotional, frightening conversation if Erik isn’t ready to have it. Perhaps they can just enjoy this evening, and Charles can try again tomorrow, from a different angle—one that doesn’t get Erik’s blood boiling for reasons Charles understands all too well, and which make him feel even more ashamed of himself.

Erik’s lips find Charles’, and Charles leans into the kiss gladly. It is soft and tender, but some of Erik’s desperation, and perhaps Charles’ agitation leaks into it, causing them to grab hold of each other’s arms and necks, drawing them closer to each other.

Charles almost feels as though he’s drowning, Erik’s lips the only thing in the world to keep him breathing, but for how long?

Charles pulls Erik even closer, deepening the kiss, trying to push all frightening thoughts to the back of his mind. If it’s all over in a few days time, or even the next day, he’s determined to at least have this, those few hours of bliss with Erik.

He’ll do it in the morning. For now, he’ll try to lose himself in Erik’s love again.


	13. 1.13 Erik

Erik has trouble believing that it’s real, that Charles —good, kind Charles—truly loves him. How can it be? It must be an illusion. It can’t be real, can it?

The second morning they wake up facing each other, Erik’s heart races just as fast as the first time, and the smile on Charles’ face is just as warm and beautiful, until it falters suddenly, his expression growing upset and concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Erik asks, his stomach lurching as his brain races through all the possible reasons why Charles could be unhappy.

Is it something Erik said or did? A bad memory perhaps? Fear of what’ll happen to them?

Now that Erik thinks about it there are about a million things about their situation that could possibly have upset Charles.

Charles sighs, looking apprehensive. “I...don’t know how to do this.”

Erik’s stomach isn’t lurching anymore, but twisting violently. How can you go from excited happiness to all-consuming dread so quickly? Was that it already? Has Charles realised that he doesn’t want it after all, that they’ve made a mistake, and should try to go back to the way they were?

But perhaps it’s not that. Perhaps it’s something else. Please, let it be something else…

“What is it?” 

Erik’s voice is croaky, and the sudden and overwhelming desperation must be showing on his face, because Charles props himself up on his elbow quickly, leaning over to touch Erik’s face with tender and trembling fingers.

“Nothing to do with you, I promise. You did nothing wrong,” he says soothingly, reassuringly. “It’s just...there’s something I should have told you—a long time ago, in fact. But I never did, and now…” He bites his lip. “Now I think it might be too late.”

Erik turns his face to the side and presses his lips against Charles’ palm. His momentary panic fades somewhat, but not entirely. What could it be that Charles has kept from him—something so important or perhaps terrible that Charles fears it might break them apart.

Once again there are a million things that Charles could confess to him that Erik might find hard to forgive.

Charles being involved in the making of the mutant discrimination law after all, for instance, or him having known about the murder of Erik’s parents at the time, and still allowing Shaw to be Captain.

“I…” Charles begins. He closes his eyes for a moment, as though gathering his strength. “You know it took me a long time to allow myself to trust you.”

Erik shrugs, though his nerves are still on edge. “It took me just as long—perhaps longer.”

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t understand. Even now I’m—I love you, Erik. So much. And I want to trust you, but...in my experience people are always nice to me and try to make me trust them, while their minds tell a completely different story. In reality they despise me and disdain me. They just want to use me, but...they pretend otherwise.”

“Not me,” Erik says, shaking his head vehemently, “I swear I really love you, Charles. I’d never—but…” He frowns, realising what Charles just said. “What do you mean ‘in their minds’? Did Emma Frost tell you what they really think?”

The expression on Charles’ face grows even more painful. He looks terrified, but strangely determined.

“No,” he says quietly. “Erik, I’m…” He swallows. “I’m a telepath.”

Erik can feel his mouth falling open, his shoulders sagging as he can do nothing but stare at Charles, who looks at him as though waiting for his own death sentence.

It’s not what Erik expected, not even close. It’s the very last thing he’d ever have guessed, and Erik’s brain doesn’t seem to be capable of integrating the information into its existent net.

Charles. A telepath. A mutant.  _ Charles. _

_ Charles? _

Because he has trouble comprehending the situation, just getting his head around the fact that a very important basic feature of the man he loves just changed entirely, Erik turns to logic, struggling to gain his foothold again.

“But...you’d know I’m sincere, wouldn’t you? If you can read my mind...why would you worry that I’m being dishonest?”

Something like relief crosses Charles’ face for a fraction of a second, directly followed by wariness again. He licks his lips nervously.

“I don’t...have my telepathy. Not right now.”

Erik blinks. Everything makes less sense by the minute. “Why not?”

Mutations aren’t temporary after all. They don’t come and go. This doesn’t make sense...

Charles closes his eyes. “I don’t know how—Would you mind if I went back a bit, so I can explain?”

Erik nods numbly, his eyes fixed on Charles’ face, desperately trying to understand what’s going on. Perhaps hearing the whole story will make it easier to connect the dots, will help his brain grasp the new information—and perhaps it’ll help Erik understand why Charles never told him about his mutation in the first place. He knew Erik was a mutant right away, so why would he be afraid to reveal his own mutation?

Charles takes another deep and shaky breath.

“Right. I—” He swallows again, clearly trying to steady himself. When he looks at Erik again, there’s still concern in his eyes, but the determination has definitely grown stronger. “I started hearing voices when I was a little kid, but I never told anyone. It only got really bad shortly after my parents died, though. A lot of people thought it was grief that was driving me mad, and Kurt got a doctor to see me. The doctor told me what it was, which was a relief at first, but when Kurt heard it he went berserk. He...mistrusts mutants, especially telepaths. He’s terrified of them—of us—me. I was the enemy in the house all of a sudden. Only shortly after I was diagnosed, an engineer came up with the helmet concept, and Kurt has never taken his off since.”

Charles shudders slightly, looking tired and upset. 

Erik stretches out a hand almost automatically to gently stroke his cheek. His heart bursts at the sight of Charles closing his eyes and briefly leaning into the touch. Charles has faced discrimination too then. Charles, the privileged, rich Prince has suffered from being different just like most mutants. Erik wants nothing more than to kiss him again, but he stops himself, because he needs to hear more of what Charles has to say.

“We talked about my shuttle accident,” Charles continues, straightening up again after a short moment’s pause. “But I never told you the whole story, I’m afraid. The truth is I did indeed suffer lasting injuries, even though I have no scars.” His voice has begun to shake again, and he waits another moment for it to calm down again. “My spine got twisted in the crash, the nerves in the lumbar spine got almost completely destroyed. I—I couldn’t move at all or sense anything below the hips.”

Charles isn’t looking at Erik but at his own fingers twisted in the sheet.

Erik’s chest has constricted so painfully he can hardly breathe. Hearing Charles say those words, seeing the pain in his face is almost unbearable, and yet…

“But how—” Erik croaks.

“The serum,” Charles says quietly. “I hid away for five months, because Kurt didn’t want anyone to see what a—that I couldn’t walk anymore. I hid until my new doctor—a man called Hank McCoy, whom Kurt had hired because he was developing a serum to inhibit mutant abilities and appearances—discovered a side effect of his serum, which was that it temporarily cured some spinal injuries.”

Erik opens his mouth in amazement, but Charles holds up a hand to stop him.

“I was reluctant to take it at first,” Charles says, his cheeks flushing pink now. “I was afraid of losing my only means of protecting myself, but Kurt talked my into it by saying nobody would listen to me if I was in a wheelchair. That I’d appear weak, and nobody would accept a weak Emperor. And so I took it, which was of course all he ever wanted—me losing my telepathy.”

The blood rushing in Erik’s ears is hard to bear. He wants to hold and kiss Charles, tell him it will be alright, and he wants to cut the goddamn Emperor’s throat. Kurt Marko, the sick bastard, always intent on destroying Charles in one way or another—eager to control all mutants around him. Oh, how Erik wants to see him bleed.

“That’s what I’ve been taking all this time,” Charles whispers. “The serum. It helps me walk, and feel, but it also takes away my telepathy.”

The look with which Charles looks at Erik is pleading, scared, and ashamed.

“I know I should have told you sooner,” he begins again. “And I know how much you hate the idea of anyone inhibiting their own powers, but—”

He’s cut off by Erik’s lips covering his own.

Erik’s heart is racing again, as he deepens the kiss, trying to be as close to Charles as he can. He’s angry, yes, furious in fact, his blood pounding in his head, but not at Charles. Charles was mistreated—no, abused—by a man who should have cared for him like a son. Erik had no idea just how badly Charles was treated in the past. None of it is Charles’ fault. But they’ll put it right, and if it’s the last thing Erik does. They’ll put it right. They’ll make both Marko and Shaw pay.

“I love you,” Erik gasps, as they finally break apart again. “I love you so much. I don’t blame you for anything.”

There are tears in Charles’ eyes, as he gives him a relieved smile.

“I want to see and feel you use your powers,” Erik blurts out, almost in spite of himself.

Powers. Charles has  _ powers. _ The concept still overwhelms Erik.

Charles’ smile falters again. “Not long and you will. There’s only one vial of serum left.”

Erik presses another kiss to Charles’ lips. “You’ll have to show me what you can do then.”

Charles draws back to look at him, strangely unnerved. “You’re not...freaked out?”

Erik hesitates. His mind still has trouble wrapping properly around the new concept, and telepathy is a mutation he isn’t very familiar with, and the idea of which he’s always found eerie to say the least—but it’s  _ Charles _ they’re talking about. He trusts Charles with his life, so he’ll trust Charles with his mind as well, without hesitation. Plus, the fact that  _ Charles is a mutant _ becomes more and more real to Erik every second—and he loves it. He couldn’t love Charles any more than he does, but the fact that they have a common cause to fight for, experiences they share, is more than Erik would have dared to dream.

“I don’t think so,” Erik replies earnestly. “I’m furious at what Marko did to you, and I guess I’m upset that you haven’t told me before, but...I love you, Charles. I trust you.”

Charles makes a choked sound, and next thing Erik knows they’re kissing again, their hands in each other’s hair. Erik can taste the salt of Charles’ tears on his lips, which makes him grab Charles even more tightly.

After a while, Charles reluctantly pulls back to look at him seriously again.

“You do realise what this means though, don’t you?” he asks with concern in his voice. “You realise that in about four days I won’t be able to walk, and I’ll lose almost all sensation from my hips down. You understand what that means?”

Erik hesitates before he nods. The idea of Charles paralysed is perhaps even harder to grasp than the idea of him being a telepath. Things will change—perhaps more than Erik can grasp at this moment—but he’s certain that they’ll be alright. They love each other after all. They’ll find a way to make things work. And Erik will make sure Charles feels as comfortable as possible, more loved than ever before. They’ll keep the awkwardness to a minimum.

Plus, it’s another thing that Marko did to Charles. Like so many other things, this comes down to Kurt Marko. Erik won’t allow that bastard to get between them. Marko holds no power over them. Marko tried to destroy Charles several times, but he didn’t succeed, and Erik will prove that by loving Charles twice as much.

However...there’s the medical aspect. There are definitely things that worry Erik. A lot.

“Will you be in pain?” Erik asks. 

It’s one thing he’ll find hard to bear. He can’t imagine seeing Charles suffer and not being able to do anything about it.

Charles grimaces. “Yes. Definitely while the serum wears off, which will take several hours. I just...it’ll be tough—for you too—but I need you to remember that it will pass. I have some pain medication for my back once it’s over, but only for a few days.” He closes his eyes, his cheeks flushing pink. “There are other things—sex, going to the toilet...I have things for that too, but they’ll run out. It...it won’t be easy for either of us.”

“We’ll manage,” Erik says, brushing a strand of hair out of Charles’ face. “Don’t worry. We’ll manage somehow.”

Even though he tries his best to reassure Charles things will be alright, Charles’ words do make him think. What will they do once Charles’ medication runs out? What if Charles is in constant pain? What if he gets sick? Aren’t paraplegic people in higher risk of infections for instance? Or illness in general? 

“I love you,” Erik adds, trying to drive away the fear in his heart.

Erik’s never said those words to another person, but now that he’s admitted his own feelings to himself, he finds he can’t stop telling Charles.

Charles doesn’t look entirely reassured, but he smiles nevertheless, albeit crookedly.

“It seems odd to say it, given our hopeless situation here,” he says. “But you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Nobody ever...everything about me was wrong. I hardly dared tell anyone that I’m gay, because I knew they would despise me for it even more than they already did. They didn’t trust me because I was a telepath, then they pitied or disdained me for being paralysed. But you...you say you love me, despite all these things.”

Charles looks amazed, as though hardly able to believe his own words.

“At least for now,” he adds uncertainly.

Erik pulls Charles on top of himself. “Not just for now,” he mutters in between kisses.

 

The next days pass in a blur of love, sex, and chess, of worry, and crying, and holding each other.

There are good moments, when they allow themselves to relax, to laugh and lose themselves in each other’s love, but there are also those in which Charles only stares straight ahead into nothingness, already paralysed by the prospect of what’ll inevitably happen to him soon. 

Erik does his best to support him in those moments, pulling the Prince into his arms to hold him tightly and placing soft kisses on his forehead until he can feel Charles leaning into the touch and giving himself over to Erik’s caresses.

The evening that Charles injects himself with the very last of the serum Erik has half a mind to stop him, tell him to save it for later, and that it will all be alright. He doesn’t though because he can tell that Charles isn’t ready, and that he’ll need the additional two days to fully prepare himself for what is to come.

They make love slowly and passionately that night, their hands wrapped tenderly but strongly around each other’s cocks, keeping their eyes fixed on what they can see of one another’s faces in the dim light all the while, before they fall asleep afterwards, their legs intertwined, holding on to each other tightly.

When they play chess, it seems like Charles manages to forget about everything else for a while, his brain occupied with predicting Erik’s next move and mapping out possible tactics. Erik convinces him to play several games, because seeing Charles’ concentrated face rather than his apprehensive one is a great relief. Even though it doesn’t quite kill the tension completely, it helps them get through the days, which is why they hardly do anything else, trying to ignore what is slowly but surely creeping up on them.

As the frightening evening of the serum wearing off finally approaches not even chess can distract Charles anymore. He just sits there, staring at his watch, which doesn’t help in terms of the actual planetary time, but it does tell him how long it has been since he took the serum for the last time—and how long it should be until it starts to wear off.

“Charles,” Erik says quietly, unable to bear the tension anymore. “Let’s do something. Chess? Or a bath?”

Charles shakes his head. 

“Please, you can’t just sit here and stare at your watch,” Erik begs. “It’ll make everything worse.”

Charles bites his lip. “Can you just hold me?”

Erik does his best to cheer Charles up, kissing him, talking to him, whispering encouraging words in his ears, but to no avail. At some point Erik gives up, pulling Charles on top of his chest, and simply holding on to him, wishing for time to pass more quickly, because the waiting is almost unbearable, and simultaneously hoping the moment will never come.

It feels like hours that they’ve laid on the bed, huddled against each other, without speaking, but not sleeping either, when Charles first winces.

“It’s starting,” he whispers, sounding terrified.

Erik wraps his arms more tightly around him. “It’s okay, Charles. I’ve got you.”

He knows how empty his words sound. There’s nothing he can do to really help after all. Charles will simply have to get through this, but at least Erik can make sure Charles isn’t alone at any point, even if that means that he’ll have to see Charles in terrible pain.

Perhaps he can share some of the pain though, perhaps that will help at least a bit.

“Talk me through it, okay?” Erik asks Charles quietly, and Charles nods, his face already screwed up in pain.

“My calves,” Charles whispers. “They sting.”

Erik rolls them over and sits up, putting his hands around one of Charles’ calves. “Would it help if I…?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes shut tightly. “I don’t know.”

Erik begins to massage the cramping muscles, and Charles releases a shuddering breath.

Erik stops at once. “Am I hurting you?” he asks, alarmed.

“No. Keep going,” Charles presses out.

For what feels like hours Erik’s fingers knead the rigid muscles on Charles’ legs, while the Prince’s breathing grows more ragged, Charles’ hands on his face, covering his eyes, soft, pained moans and whimpering sounds escaping his mouth.

Erik puts all his energy into the massage. He knows it won’t help in the long run, but perhaps he can at least provide some comfort for the moment, and perhaps it’ll keep reminding Charles that he’s not alone.

Plus, it gives Erik something to do, so he doesn’t just have to sit and watch Charles suffer. He’s never been good at doing that. Keeping himself occupied is important too.

“Stop!” Charles suddenly chokes out at some point, and Erik draws back immediately.

“What is it?” Erik asks, terror filling him on the look of overwhelming agony on Charles’ face. “Did I hurt you? Charles? Please tell me what to do.”

Charles grabs the sheet very tightly. “Just...stay away,” he presses out through clenched teeth. “Don’t touch me.”

Erik’s stomach plummets. He can’t help feeling hurt, even though he knows it’s stupid. He just wants to be there for Charles, to help him in this difficult moment, but Charles not wanting him there...what can he do?

“Stop,” Charles whimpers again.

“What? I’m not doing—” Erik begins desperately.

“Your mind,” Charles chokes out. “Your emotions. They’re killing me.”

Mind. Emotions. Of course. Charles isn’t feeling only his own pain, but also Erik’s fear and terror at the sight of Charles lying there in agony. Erik will have to tone it down, but how? He doesn’t know how to prevent himself from  _ feeling _ things. He knows how to stop others from  _ seeing _ his pain, but how can he stop himself from feeling—

Charles lets out a terrible groan, and Erik jumps up from the bed, moving away from Charles as quickly as he can, even though he has no idea whether that’ll help in the slightest.

_ Think calm things, _ Erik tells himself desperately.  _ Think happy things. _

But all this does is make him feel panicky and irritable.

Why can’t he stop himself from feeling all these bad emotions? Why can’t he control himself for Charles’ sake? He’s got to tone it down, he can’t—

A siren goes off somewhere, and Erik briefly wonders whether he’s gone completely mad, or whether Charles might have inadvertently slipped into his mind and is now projecting into it.

But no, the sensation is real. His ears aren’t lying, and doesn’t that mean—

“Charles!” Erik gasps loudly. “Charles! The telegraph!”

Charles doesn’t respond. His hands are back over his face, his fingers digging into the skin.

After a moment’s hesitation, Erik turns around and sprints to the door, ripping it open and running outside, just remembering to close it behind him again.

The telegraph! There’s a signal, a real signal!

Erik has a moment of panic at leaving Charles alone in his state, but he can’t not check the transceiver now that they’ve caught the signal of a ship for the first time—and perhaps for the last time too. And didn’t Charles tell him to stay away from him anyway? Perhaps it’s best for Charles to be left alone while his telepathy returns.

The red light on the machine flashes brightly, as Erik tears open the door of the little hut, and there are other lights too, ones that didn’t flash the last time they were here. Someone is trying to contact them, and Erik won’t let the opportunity pass.

“Hello?” he yells into the microphone, slamming his hand on the button controlling the speaker. “Hello? Somebody there?”

He’s not adhering to protocol, but he couldn’t care less right now. His mind is a jumble of emotions. Excitement at the prospect of finally being rescued from their exile, and just when things are starting to look dangerous for Charles. Terror at the memory of Charles lying on the bed in agony. Anger at himself for not being able to keep his emotions in check, and causing Charles yet more pain. And fear that he might not have been quick enough, that nobody will answer his call…

_ “Hello?” _

The voice is crackly, and yet there’s no denying that it is a voice, a real, human voice on the other end of the line.

Erik collapses onto the floor of the tiny hut, letting out a wail, that is half exasperation and half endless relief.

_ “Hello? Who am I talking to?” _

They speak English, but that isn’t really relevant. Most independent settlers and rebel groups have adopted English as their primary language after all.

Erik forces himself back up on his feet, trying very hard to get himself back together.

This is important. He needs to get this right, and they might be saved. He’ll get Charles to safety before he he has to suffer too much.

“Hello?” Erik begins again. “We’re stranded on this planet. We’re lost and we need rescue. Please help us!”

Erik has never begged for anything in his life, and yet it doesn’t feel wrong. He’s doing this for Charles. Charles needs care, he needs supplies and medicine—these people will be able to help him, and Erik would fall to his knees and kiss their feet if that was required to make them help Charles.

_ “How many are you?” _ the voice asks.

A man, Erik registers dimly, though it doesn’t really matter.

“Two,” Erik replies. “Just two. Please help us. We’re almost out of food, and one of us is in desperate need of medical help.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

_ “We’re sending a shuttle down to you,” _ the voice then says, and Erik’s legs give way again.

They’re safe! Charles is safe! They’ll be rescued.

_ “The shuttle will be with you in about an hour,” _ the man on the other end goes on.  _ “Don’t turn off the transceiver, so our men will be able to find you.” _

“Thank you,” Erik manages to splutter. “Thank you so much!”

There’s no subsequent reply, and Erik allows himself to sink to the floor again for a moment, to take a deep breath and gather himself.

They’re going to be saved. They’ll be alright. He’ll get Charles all the help he needs. There won’t be any need for Charles to worry about his medicine or other medical supplies running out. They’ll be fine.

As soon as he’s confident that he can stand, Erik stumbles out of the hut and heads back for their little illuminated cabin.

Charles is lying on his stomach as Erik enters, his body trembling all over, the sheets pulled over his head.

“Charles?” Erik says tentatively.

Charles flinches as if Erik had slapped him.

Erik should probably leave him alone, it looks as though Erik’s presence, and especially him talking to Charles is causing him terrible pain, but Erik has to tell him. The shuttle will be here in an hour. Charles has to know.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Erik says a softly as he can muster.

Nevertheless Charles flinches again at every word.

“I got into contact with a ship,” Erik says carefully. “They’re coming for us. We’re safe, Charles.”

Slowly, tremulously, Charles removes the sheet from his head and turns a pale and sweaty face to Erik. He looks as though he’s been ill for weeks, fighting for his life, and Erik feels an overwhelming desire to walk over to him and hold him tightly. He just manages to suppress the impulse, however.

Charles doesn’t need more pain.

Charles seems to have trouble focusing on him, his eyes drifting away again continuously, perhaps distracted by who knows what kinds of thoughts buzzing around between them.

“A ship?” he mutters, as though hardly able to grasp the concept.

“Yes, a ship,” Erik affirms quickly, encouraged. “I’ll meet them alone. You stay here, and I’ll get you once I’ve discussed everything with them.”

It’s best not to spring Charles on them right away, not in his state, and there’s no knowing what their rescuers will do if they recognise Charles—though it’s possible they might not recognise him at all. The time on this planet has definitely left its marks on Charles’ once proper appearance.

Charles’ face distorts in pain again, and he pulls the sheet back over his head with one hand, while the other travels to his lower back, grasping the worn through fabric of his shirt very tightly, the skin on his knuckles turning white. Erik can hardly stand the sight, but he doesn’t dare approach Charles, let alone touch him.

It hits him that he should perhaps pack everything they might want to take with them before their rescuers arrive. They don’t own much, but there are some things of value, real or emotional, and they should have them ready once their rescuers arrive.

He hurries back and forth in their little hut, piling everything they’ll take with them next to the door—Charles’ med kit, his shoes and jacket, the little knife, their chess pieces, the metal dart, and a blanket to wrap Charles into in the shuttle, in case he’s still not feeling well.

When he’s done, Erik sits down next to the door, his eyes on Charles lying shivering on the bed, and the window right next to him, which must betray the first sign of the shuttle arriving—a light illuminating the clearing so they know where to land.

It takes far too long, and soon Erik is feeling nervous again.

Did they misunderstand each other? Is the signal too weak? Are they not able to locate them? Did the man lie to Erik? Are they perhaps not sending anyone at all?

Erik can tell that his nerves and fearful thoughts are causing Charles discomfort if not more pain, because the other man has started twisting and groaning on the bed, but he can’t help himself. He was so sure that they’d be saved, so hopeful—he couldn’t bear those hopes being crushed. Not after telling Charles everything will be alright. It has to be okay. It simply has to be.

When finally a blazing light shines through the window, Erik jumps to his feet again, his heart beating furiously in his chest.

“They’re here, Charles,” He whispers, his voice trembling, hardly daring to believe his own words. “We’re safe.”

He turns to look at the other man who’s shed the sheet again, and is lifting his head off the bed, staring out the window too, his mouth slightly open, looking dazed, and only half-aware of his surroundings.

“I’ll meet them, then I’ll get you,” Erik repeats, more to himself than Charles, who doesn’t seem to hear him anyway.

The light lets up somewhat, as the shuttle properly comes into focus, slowly sinking down, landing on the clearing right behind the tiny telegraph’s hut. It’s a larger shuttle than the one Erik and Charles crashed in—built for more than two passengers—but otherwise it’s very similar. Erik has flown one of those before in his training.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Erik whispers to Charles who seems to have frozen in his position with his head lifted up. “I won’t be long.”

He slips out of the door just as the gullwing doors on both sides of the shuttle swing open, and four men climb out. They’re still several yards away, but Erik can already tell that they’re armed—even though the only metal he can sense is that of the shuttle itself. This only concerns him a little though. Of course they came armed. They didn’t really know what to expect.

They men look around, and one of them spots Erik standing in front of the cabin, waving at his companions to follow him and approaches.

There’s something odd about the way they move and hold themselves, but Erik doesn’t get a chance to properly consider what it is, as the man in the front, only a few yards away now, suddenly crumples right before Erik’s eyes, like a marionette whose strings have been cut.

Erik hears himself yell, but before he can grasp what happened, the other men collapse too, one by one, lifelessly, quietly dropping into the snow.

Erik’s heart is racing and he feels sick. He’s frozen to the spot, staring at the lifeless figures in the snow before him in horror.

What the hell is going on? What happened to them?

Pulling himself together he runs to the man nearest him and hastily turns him around.

Dull, empty eyes stare up at the night sky, unseeing, but that’s a pulse. A  _ pulse. _ Erik shakes the man, waves his hand in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t react at all, his head lolling uselessly from one side to the other, his eyes still wide open, expressionless, unfocused—but there’s still a  _ pulse. _

Erik lets go of the man and stumbles a few steps backwards. His whole body is shaking, and he can’t do anything to prevent it. 

What could kill a man and—not kill him? If they’re not dead, if their hearts are still beating—what are they? And how?  _ Who _ did this to them?

His stomach lurching, Erik turns quickly around to stare at the cabin behind him. There, in the window, is Charles’ pale face, staring back at him in horror.


	14. 1.14 Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> The use of telepathy in this chapter may be upsetting to some readers.

Everything is a blur of light and dark, of cold and warmth, of fear and hope, and Charles has trouble grasping what’s going on.

Erik says something, but his voice gets drowned out by all the sensations screaming in Charles’ mind, though the accompanying intention of speech, Erik’s mind forming words and concepts feels as though someone is beating Charles’ head with a hammer, the unbearable pain keeping him from grasping any meaning within the thoughts.

An image swims before Charles’ inner eye, however, lasting for a fraction of a second. A spaceship, hovering not far from a green and white planet.

“A ship?” Charles hears himself mutter, and he receives a wave of affirmation, of worry, and pain, but also of hope, blazing brightly and almost burning him inside.

_ Hope? _

If only Charles’ head wasn’t hurting so terribly, if only Erik’s thoughts and emotions weren’t washing over him in a disordered jumble, threatening to drown him in them, if only he could make sense of what he sees and feels. If only his back and legs didn’t feel as though they were on fire.

In his daze and pain, Charles just notices Erik busying himself around the cabin, mostly because the intensity of the mess of his emotions and thoughts keeps flickering, like a badly tuned radio, as Erik comes nearer, and retreats again.

Something is going on. Something is happening, and a part of Charles, the one that is still dimly aware of his surroundings, desperately tries to understand what it is, while the rest of him is simply set on survival, on keeping the pain at bay, and stopping his mind from falling apart from the pressure.

Charles’ attention inadvertently turns inwards, as the pain in his legs slowly lets up and all sensation in them fades, but his mind begins to scream again. There’s worry, so much worry. Something went wrong, but what? Or is he too impatient? Are those his thoughts or somebody else’s? Who is there? Whose thoughts are shouting like that?

And then the worry transforms and becomes light, relief, so much relief that Charles can’t breathe for a moment, and where does the light come from?

“They’re here, Charles,” he hears Erik’s voice again, sounding clearer than in a long time. 

It’s hopeful, and there’s a rush of excitement that cuts Charles’ mind sharply. And light, more light in his mind —or is it real?

Charles lifts his heavy head and blinks against the brightness shining through the window.

Light. There’s real light outside—so bright it hurts his sensitive eyes.

“We’re safe.” Charles only dimly registers Erik’s voice coming from near the door, but the words’ meaning doesn’t get through to him, his mind occupied with so many sensations he can’t get a proper hold on any of them.

Erik keeps speaking, but Charles’ eyes are fixed on the sight outside the window. He tries to force the jumble of voices, memories, and emotions down, that seep over from Erik’s mind, in order to grasp the situation outside.

It’s a shuttle. There’s a shuttle outside.

How? Why? Is he seeing things? Is this only a fantasy that has taken him over?

The door opens and Charles just catches sight of Erik slipping outside.

The chaos of voices and emotions in his mind becomes harder to control as other voices add to them, other emotions. 

More people. There are  _ people _ outside.  _ Humans. _

What on earth is going on?

The new minds force themselves on Charles, blanking out his vision and all other sensations. He mentally gasps for air, trying to stay afloat.

Too many minds. Too many minds for now. He’s got to put them in order, separate them, or he’ll go mad. 

There, the warmth and light and hope, and  _ love _ , that’s Erik. Charles desperately grasps for Erik’s mind, trying to push it to the side in order to be able to sense the others properly. No, not all of them. He can’t grasp all of them. 

_ Just one, extract one mind and examine it, _ he tells himself.  _ You can do it. You’ve done this before. Who is this? What is he doing here? What are his—? _

It all falls into place as Charles’ grasp on his telepathy strengthens—memories, emotions,  _ intentions. _

“No,” Charles gasps, though he’s not sure whether he’s spoken out loud.

Erik’s out there. With that man, who is about to—

Without thinking about it, as though he knew how to do it all along, Charles forces all his telepathic senses into the other man’s mind, grabbing hold of its structure, and  _ snaps _ it, breaking contacts, burning synapses, the whole network collapsing, memories and emotions, and personality dying, vanishing in an instant. But there’s another mind, and another, and another. Charles dives into them all, one after the other, and pulls them apart without another thought, until there’s only Erik’s left—shocked, disbelieving, terrified.

Charles forcefully pulls back from Erik’s mind, gasping and shivering all over. There’s no pain in his legs left, he registers dimly, only in his back and head—and in his heart.

He destroyed those men. They’re gone. There’s nothing that could bring them back. The total silence coming from their minds makes that completely clear.

His vision slowly returns. He sees Erik kneeling next to the closest of the men, feeling his pulse, shaking him.

The man won’t wake. He might well still have a pulse because Charles didn’t destroy that part of his mind. What’s left of his brain might still force his heart to beat and send useless blood through a body belonging to a dead man.

A man that Charles killed.

Erik jumps up and stumbles backwards, evidently trembling.

Waves of panic and incomprehension wash over Charles, before he manages to put his mental barriers up. He can’t deal with Erik’s horror on top of his own.

Erik suddenly whips around and stares at him through the window, his face pale, his eyes wide open.

Charles can only stare back.

There’s a question in Erik’s eyes, that Charles also feels leaking through his mental barriers.

_ Yes, _ Charles responds mentally, dully.  _ Yes, it was me. _

For a moment he’s unsure whether Erik heard him, but then he sees the shock in Erik’s eyes, feels a strong wave of incredulity and horror, of incomprehension and pain breaking through his barriers.

They stare at each other for another moment that feels like eternity, before Erik almost runs to the door of the cabin and tears it open.

“Charles!” Erik yells, hurrying to the bed, and throwing his arms around him.

Another jolt of emotions hits Charles as Erik touches him, but he manages to force them down again, to keep them separate from his own.

Charles only realises how terribly his arms are shaking, as he hugs Erik back gingerly.

“Erik, I didn’t—” he begins, but words fail him.

He needs Erik to understand why he did it. Charles is not a cold-blooded killer, he’d never have thought he’d be capable of hurting another person, let alone...obliterating them. But Erik was in danger, Erik would have been hurt, and Charles couldn’t let that happen, and he didn’t  _ think. _ Maybe if he’d been in full possession of his powers he’d have been able to freeze them or make them forget what they came for, but  _ this... _ how will he be able to live with himself after what he’s just done?

For a moment Charles feels like reaching into Erik’s mind to make him understand exactly what happened without having to tell him, but he’s afraid of what else he might see there—revulsion perhaps, or fear—and his control still hasn’t returned completely. What if he hurts Erik?

Before he can come to a conclusion as to what to do next, however, Erik’s grip around his shoulders lets up and he draws back, worry written all over his face.

“Charles, what happened?” he asks quietly, his voice trembling slightly.

“I—” The shaking has become more pronounced since Erik let go of him, and the terror at what he did threatens to engulf him. “I—I—they were sent to kill us,” he forces out eventually.

Understanding dawns behind Erik’s horrified gaze.

“You read their minds?” he asks.

Charles nods, desperately trying to control the trembling of his hands. “They were about to attack you. I couldn’t—I had to—” His voice dies away as a sob escapes his throat.

Erik pulls him back into a tight hug, pressing kisses to his hair. The touch sends another jolt of emotions through Charles’ mind, though this time it actually helps calm him a little. He detects worry there, horror, but also gratefulness, warmth, and love. So much love.

“You’re right,” Erik mumbles into his ear. “You did the right thing. Thank you. You saved me. I love you.”

It doesn’t feel real, none of it. Charles can sense Erik’s love, it’s there, wrapping him up like a warm blanket, but nevertheless...how can any of this be real?

And what will happen now?

“Shaw,” Charles forces out.

Erik draws back again, looking at him questioningly.

“Shaw sent them,” Charles says through clenched teeth, trying to stop himself from sobbing again.

They’ve got to stay focused. There are things to do now, things that can’t wait. They can talk about everything else later—if they get the chance.

Erik doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look very surprised—who else but Marko, and in addition Shaw, is so keen on seeing them dead.

“They passed close by the planet to see whether they’d catch a signal of any sort,” Charles goes on, noticing—to his own relief—that his voice is slowly becoming calmer with every word. “They wanted to finish us for good.”

Thankfully, Erik catches right on. 

“What now?” he asks, his face, too, looking calmer, determined.

“If they don’t report back, Shaw will send someone else. We’ll have to find a way around that.”

“But how...”

Charles takes a deep breath. He hates himself for what he says next, for even having the thought in the first place. But it’s the only chance they’ve got. “They’re not dead. There’s still blood flowing through the veins in their brains, so I think…” He swallows. He doesn’t like the idea, not even a bit, but what choice does he have? “I think I could still control them to send a message, make sure Shaw doesn’t send more people.”

Erik’s mouth is slightly open as he stares at Charles. His shock, but also his amazement are leaking into Charles’ mind again.

“You can do that?”

“Yes,” Charles says quietly. “I think I can.”

Erik nods slowly, regarding Charles with wonder, but also pain. “Now?” he asks.

Charles bites his lip. “Yes, I guess. But…” He hates the situation more and more with every passing second. “I think you might have to carry me.”

 

The snow crunches under Erik’s feet as he carries Charles on his back towards the shuttle, passing the empty, soulless bodies on the snowy ground, Charles’ legs dangling uselessly, dully, by his side.

Charles allows Erik to lift him inside, then waits for him to retrieve the pilot’s body from the snow.

Charles feels terrible for making Erik carry the body, when he could just as well slip into the man’s mind and make him walk the few steps—but what he’s about to do feels like too much of an intrusion anyway, and he’s not sure he could bear the sight of an essentially dead man walking like a marionette.

“Can you operate the transceiver?” Charles asks in a croaky voice, once the pilot sits empty-eyed in the pilot’s seat and Erik has also climbed into the shuttle.

Erik nods, starting to fumble with the buttons on the controls.

Charles tries very hard not to look at the man in the pilot’s seat too closely, but his eyes seem to be magically drawn back to him again and again.

What has he done?

“Ready?” Erik asks after a moment.

The sight of the man’s empty eyes is eerie, but not even half as horrifying as his hollow mind. Charles can still feel the edges he broke, though everything lying beyond is dead and gone. The only thing that still works is the physical apparatus—simple circuits controlling breathing, the beating of the heart, muscles—though there is no consciousness left to steer them.

Charles has to reach forward and grab Erik’s shoulder very tightly with one hand, touching his temple with the other, in order to steady himself both physically and mentally. 

_ Don’t think about it, _ he tells himself desperately.  _ Don’t think about what you did or what you’re about to do. You’ve got to do this. You’ve got to keep Erik safe. It’s all that matters. _

He can hate himself later, for all of this, and he will. He definitely will. Not now though. Now he’s got to stay focused. Now he’s got a job to do.

Charles has never dived into a dead mind before, but he nevertheless knows instinctively what to do. 

It doesn’t take him long to navigate and find the motor system. The well-practiced circuits are still there, having memorised the precise muscle movements of grasping, walking, and speaking so well that hardly any further input will be necessary. Now he only needs to remember the man’s thoughts and use them to make it believable.

He can do this. He has to.

“Ready,” Charles replies, though his throat is drier than it has ever been before.

Erik presses another button and a few beeps sound through the shuttle, then a voice appears. A very familiar voice, which has Erik tensing beneath the touch of Charles’ hand.

_ “Have you done it?” _ Shaw asks. Even through the crackling of the transceiver the lack of emotion in his voice is apparent, sending cold shivers down Charles’ back.

Charles delves deeply into the pilot’s mind, activating the muscles in his speech organs. Even though he knows what is going to happen, Charles can’t suppress a shudder as the man’s mouth opens and he speaks in a stertorous voice, as though hardly able to draw breath. 

“Subjects...both dead. Prince was...in bad condition...barely conscious...easily killed. Companion fought...killed...all comrades...dead. I can barely...don’t send help.”

There’s a moment of silence during which Charles and Erik wait with bated breaths for Shaw to speak again.

What if he decides to send someone to find the seemingly injured pilot? What if he sees through their trick?

_ “They’re definitely both dead?” _ Shaw asks, sounding pleased.

Not even a shred of misery at the news of his own men having been killed, no compassion for the ostensibly fatally wounded pilot—nothing.

“Yes, sir,” Charles makes the pilot choke out, hating himself.

_ “Good. You’ve done well,”  _ Shaw responds, and the signal disconnects, just like that. The little light on the controls keeps flashing, but the sound dies away completely.

Erik lets his finger drop from the speaker’s button and sinks back into his seat.

Charles slips out of the pilot’s mind, feeling dirty, the man’s chin lifelessly toppling onto his chest.

“You reckon he bought it?” Erik asks after a moment.

“I don’t know,” Charles says slowly. “I think so, but—” He takes a shuddering breath. “God, I hate myself.”

Erik’s head turns, and then he’s out of the front seat and in the back seat next to Charles, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Please don’t,” he mutters in between kisses to Charles’ temple. “You did nothing wrong. They were going to kill us without hesitation—they got what they deserved.”

Charles leans into the hug, closing his eyes. “I feel so filthy,” he whispers. “And they’re still lying there—not even dead. We can’t wait for wild animals to come and kill them, Erik.”

“But you said they weren’t conscious—”

“Their hearts are beating though. There’s still blood being pumped through their veins. I did this and I—I can’t just leave them—I’ve got to—but I can’t do it, Erik, I can’t!”

For the first time since he realised what happened, Charles feels actual tears welling up inside him, his heart squeezing painfully.

_ He _ did that. He, Charles. He’s a killer now, but he hasn’t got the strength to become one again. It would be the right thing to do, not to wait until the wolf-like creatures find the soldiers’ still-warm bodies and tear them apart, but Charles can’t do it. He can’t kill them again. He can’t rip out the remaining parts of their minds, and he can’t drive a knife into their hearts either. He can’t do it, because he’s a goddamn coward, too afraid to do the right thing.

“It’s alright,” he hears Erik mumble into his ear. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it right now, if you need me to.”

“No,” Charles presses out desperately. “I’m not going to make you a killer, just because I—”

“There’s much more than that I’d do for you,” Erik says with determination. “I love you, Charles.”

Charles draws back to look into the other man’s face. There’s nothing but determination and pain there—pain for Charles’ sake.

“I can’t do that to you,” Charles chokes out. “I can’t. What I did to them has already destroyed me, and I can’t do the same to you. I can’t—”

“Look into my mind, Charles.” Erik’s voice is calm as he fixes Charles’ face with his eyes.

“Wh—what?”

He can’t have heard correctly. Nobody has ever asked him to enter their mind of their own accord.

“Look into my mind,” Erik repeats.

Charles stares at him, but Erik’s eyes don’t leave his own once. He doesn’t look scared, only resolute, and undoubtedly curious.

After another moment’s hesitation, Charles lifts a trembling finger to his temple and closes his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the chaotic rush of feelings, desires, and memories.

It doesn’t come as strongly as suspected.

Erik’s mind is surprisingly ordered, now that no all-consuming emotions are dominating the whole of it and stirring it up. Sensations, emotions, intentions, memories are all nicely mapped out in front of Charles’ senses, easy to examine, but just as easy to push back.

It’s not difficult to guess what Erik wants him to see. He’s thinking about it very intensively, leaking to the outer layers of Erik’s mind, and all Charles has to do is dive into it.

There’s warmth, pain, protectiveness, and love, and Charles is the very centre of those emotions. It’s all about Charles, the pain of seeing him suffer like this, the overwhelming desire to make it alright, no matter the cost. But there’s more. There’s the determination Charles saw mirrored in Erik’s face, and the conviction that killing those men wouldn’t destroy Erik like Charles fears, because he’s planned to do much worse things to other men, and has thought about them time and time again. There’s an almost-hidden thought Charles isn’t sure Erik intended him to see, that these soldiers would actually deserve to be left to die on their own, but that Erik would do anything for Charles, and so he’ll do what he wouldn’t have done otherwise, and kill them. There’s also a flicker of fear that Charles will feel repulsed when he sees the things Erik had planned to do to Shaw, because Charles is a much better man than him, and yet there’s also the resolution not to hide anything from Charles anymore, because Erik loves him. So much.

Another strong wave of warmth and affection hits Charles at the thought, so strong in fact, that it makes him take a shaking breath. 

He could never have guessed how strong Erik’s feelings for him are, how brightly they illuminate Erik’s mind and how much warmth they spread everywhere.

As Charles draws back reluctantly and his focus returns to his physical senses, he sees tears in Erik’s eyes. 

Because he didn’t want to sneak around in Erik’s mind, Charles did nothing to hide his presence from him. For a second he wonders whether that may have been a mistake. Telepathic presence in one’s mind takes some getting used to after all, and a lot of people are absolutely freaked out by it.

“That—” Erik begins in a croaky voice. “That was amazing. You were _ there. _ I could  _ feel _ you. It felt…” He looks lost for words. “...intense, but...in a good way,” he adds then.

Charles can’t speak. There’s a large lump in his throat, his own mind is still buzzing from the intensity of Erik’s feeling, and his chest feels tight around his heart and lungs.

How does he deserve Erik?

“I’ll get you back to the cabin,” Erik says gently, taking Charles’ hand into his and stroking his thumb over the back. “And then I’ll see to Shaw’s men, if that’s alright.”

Charles nods. He doesn’t have the strength to object anymore, nor the desire. Erik’s mind said it all, and Charles simply has to trust that Erik knows himself well enough to be sure he’ll be alright, because there really doesn’t seem to be anything Erik wouldn’t do for him.

Charles allows Erik to carry him back to his bed in the cabin, managing to swallow down the feeling of humiliation, and then wraps himself in the blanket, closing his eyes, and pulling up all barriers of his telepathy, so as not to have to witness anything happening in the forest.

When finally the door creaks, and Erik returns to his side quite a while later, it’s already light again outside. It comes as a relief for Charles to be able to finally drop his mental walls, and allow his mind to wander freely again—although he doesn’t dare delve too deeply into Erik’s mind again, without permission. Nevertheless, Erik is the first person with whom Charles doesn’t worry about picking up on surface thoughts and emotions, because he’s almost sure Erik doesn’t mind.

“I did it,” Erik says, gently brushing a strand of hair out of Charles’ face. “And I buried them too, so no wild animals will get to them.”

_ Which is more than they deserve, _ Charles can sense him adding mentally, even though he doesn’t think he was meant to hear it.

“Thank you,” Charles mumbles. “I know you only did this for me, but...it was the right thing to do.”

The pain at what he did is still there, and so is the memory of the moments when the soldiers’ minds vanished. They’ll probably haunt him forever, but nevertheless knowing that it’s over, and that the men’s bodies, at least, are safe, relieves him of some of the tension.

Erik slips under the blanket next to him. “Is it okay if I hold you?” he asks tentatively. “It won’t hurt you anymore?”

“No, don’t worry,” Charles replies shakily. “Please do.”

Erik’s arms wrap around him tightly, securely, as Erik pulls him closer, their chests touching. Charles buries his face in the fabric of Erik’s threadbare shirt, thinking for a tiny moment that they should have taken the soldiers’ clothes before they buried them, then hating himself for the very idea.

He’s taken enough from those men as it is. Their future, their memories, their lives. He couldn’t have also taken their dignity by undressing their dead bodies and leaving them to lie naked in a hole.

“Are you alright?” Erik asks quietly, and Charles forcefully pulls his mind from the painful line of thought.

“No,” he says earnestly. “But there’s no helping that right now.” Charles rubs his eyes. “We should talk about what to do next. We’ve got a shuttle now.”

Distraction is what he needs, and they’ve got dozens of things they need to think about anyway.

Erik tenses slightly, as though hit by a terrible thought. “Unless Shaw sends people to retrieve it.”

“He won’t,” Charles responds, surprised by the conviction in his voice. “They only stopped shortly, and were planning to fly on as quickly as possible. There are thousands of people on the ship who don’t know that Shaw had anything to do with my disappearance. They must have made sure people thought I disappeared some other place, and sent out search parties there that were never going to find me. They can’t stop here too long, however. They don’t want to draw suspicion. They’ll be gone already.”

It’s silent for a few moments, as Erik perceptibly processes the information.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” he says then. “They knew it was us, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Charles nods. “They knew.”

“So why didn’t they wear those telepathy-proof helmets to guard themselves against you?”

Charles thinks for a moment.

“You said I was in desperate need for medical attention,” he says then, recalling the memories from the pilot’s mind. “They were counting on me being incapacitated. And anyway, Shaw’s helmet was the only one on the ship, and he wasn’t going to give it away. They thought that I’d be on the serum all the time, after all, and that I’d definitely be dead after the shuttle crash.” He thinks harder, delving more deeply into the memories he procured, even though it’s still painful. “And I think they underestimated my ability,” he adds. “I always held myself back at the palace. It’s possible Kurt was under the impression all I could do was read minds. I guess that’s why Shaw didn’t suspect that I was mind controlling the pilot into sending the message.”

“Marko and Shaw have no idea who they’re dealing with,” Erik says. There’s pride in his words and leaking from his mind, along with more warmth and love.

Charles chuckles sadly. “They’re not dealing with anyone right now. I’m still lightyears away from Earth.”

“It’s not as hopeless anymore though,” Erik points out, squeezing Charles’ shoulders tightly. “We’ve got a shuttle now. Shaw tried to finish us for good, but he ended up helping us instead.”

“Perhaps,” Charles concedes. “But a shuttle won’t get us back to Earth. We’ll still need to find a ship to take us. How far do you think it can go?” he adds thoughtfully.

“Depends on how full the tank is,” Erik says slowly. “But if it was full before they took off, it should take us out of the planet’s orbit and a bit further into space—perhaps to a well-traveled route, if we manage to locate one, or perhaps not. I don’t know.”

“How long until the oxygen runs out?”

Charles can sense Erik’s mind thinking hard at that.

“With two of us, and a shuttle built for six people...about three days—Earth days—72 hours. The oxygen tanks refill themselves whenever there’s oxygen available, and normally shuttles are built to be able to remain in space for a day, so....yeah. I’m not one hundred percent sure though,” he adds cautiously.

Charles nods slowly. “So if we don’t encounter a ship within three days, we suffocate.”

“Yes,” Erik says. “It doesn’t make sense to turn around after a day or so. We won’t have gotten far enough from the planet to find a ship by then—and we won’t have fuel to take off another time. So, yes, we either find a ship within three days or we suffocate.”

“Unless…” Charles begins tentatively. “Unless you leave on your own, then pick me up if you find a ship and they agree to get me.”

“I’m not leaving without you!” Erik says at once, the muscles in his arms tensing around Charles’ shoulders.

“You’d have six days though. Or rather...you’d have three days to go as far possible, but you’ll be able to return if you don’t find anything. It would be much safer.”

“No,” Erik says forcefully. “We’re leaving together, or we’re staying together, but I’m not leaving you behind.”

The waves of grim determination coming from Erik’s mind are enough to stop Charles from arguing any further, though he wasn’t entirely convinced by his own idea anyway. He can’t imagine being left alone and not knowing whether Erik will ever come back. The idea of being parted from Erik is...unendurable.

“Then we should leave tomorrow,” Charles says after a moment’s consideration. “The Magnificence will be far away by then, and it doesn’t make sense to wait any longer, because my medication and medical supplies will run out within a few days.”

Erik hesitates. “You’re right,” he says then, though his voice and mind are tinged with apprehension and regret. 

 

It has been a long time since Charles took the different pills aiding with his back pain as well as bowel and bladder control, and he does so reluctantly, with resignation, knowing he has no other choice, if he doesn’t want to humiliate himself completely in front of Erik.

Erik uses all their collected metal to mould it into a kind of sledge for Charles to sit on, which he pads with blankets to make it more comfortable and less cold. 

It’s a good solution, one that means Charles doesn’t have to bear being carried around anymore like some damsel in distress, but nevertheless he can’t quite help feeling like a little kid on his sledge being pulled by a parent, as Erik pulls him through the snow using his powers.

Charles is glad he remembers everything to do with how to use a catheter, and it barely takes him ten minutes to pee, which nevertheless leaves his hands frozen to the bone, and his conscience aching at the thought of Erik having to wait for him in the freezing cold too.

_ Not long, _ he tells himself, as he tries to zip up his flies with numb and frozen fingers.  _ Not long and we’ll be gone from the cold forever. _

He’s not entirely sure how to feel about that though. It was a tough time, and yet he never felt more at home anywhere. However, he knows they can’t stay here forever—him especially. They’ve got to leave eventually, so why not do it sooner rather than later? Especially now that his medical and care situation is going to be...difficult. 

They’ve got to take a chance when it presents itself to them, and if they die trying...well, at least they’ll die together. He won’t part from Erik anymore. They’ll stay together, no matter what. Perhaps it’s not the place that felt like home. Perhaps anywhere with Erik will feel like home from now on.

Even though they’re both exhausted, what with the strain of the previous night, and them not having slept at all, they both have trouble falling asleep that night, both too apprehensive about what is to come. 

After two hours of trying to sleep, they end up kissing, holding on to one another, and rubbing soothing circles into each other’s backs, in an attempt to make the other relax.

When Erik finally dozes off in Charles’ arms, it’s only about an hour until dusk.

Charles closes his eyes, burying his nose into Erik’s hair, also trying to get some rest before their ominous trip into space, which might bring their lives to an end within a few days.

“I love you,” he mumbles quietly into Erik’s hair, so as not to wake him. “Thank you for being with me. I owe you everything.”

Whatever the next days may bring, at least Charles now knows what it feels like to love and be loved in return.


	15. 1.15 Erik

The morning passes in a blur, and a jumble of conflicting emotions.

It’s a chance, the first real chance they have of getting away from this planet, and probably the only one they’ll get, but it’s also more than possible they’ll be dead within 72 hours. They don’t know anything about where they are in the galaxy after all—they don’t even know which solar system they’re in. There might not be any ships anywhere close by, perhaps they’re far off the usual routes, and even if they aren’t—how will they know where best to go?

Too much depends on luck.

As Erik loads their few belongings into the shuttle he has half a mind of turning around and trying to convince Charles it’s best if they stay on the planet for a little longer. Aren’t they happy here? They’ve got each other after all, and isn’t that all they need?

But then reality hits him again. He’s lying to himself. It’s not all they need, or at least—it’s not all Charles needs.

Charles will need medical care sooner or later, there’s no getting around that. Erik won’t be able to provide him with all the assistance and medication he needs, and he doesn’t want Charles to suffer, so they’ll have to take this risk, and take it soon. If there’s any chance they’ll be found, Charles will be able to receive the care he needs. And if not...at least they’ll die together.

Even though the idea is scary, it’s also reassuring. Within the next three days this will be over, one way or another. They won’t be fighting for their lives anymore. They’ll be either dead or finally on a ship.

What then though?

Getting onto a ship is the only chance they have, that much has always been clear, but if they do end up encountering a ship, what kind will it be?

A ship of the Emperor’s fleet? In that case all would depend on the person in charge of the ship. If the commander is loyal to Kurt Marko, they’ll probably be dropped right out of a hatch into space again. If they encounter a ship under a man loyal to Charles, they’ll have a real chance of gathering an army to fight Marko once they reach Earth. But how likely is that?

And if it’s a rebels’ ship? The rebels, or at least most of them, are people opposed to Marko’s policies and aiming to dispossess him. Will their hatred of anything royal prevent them from hearing Charles out? Technically they’re on the same side now. Perhaps, if the rebels allow themselves to consider Charles anything but an enemy, they might all profit from such an alliance. But will they? Or will they simply take Charles hostage and try to use him as a bargaining chip?

And what if Erik and Charles get picked up by a pirates’ ship? Erik hardly dares think about that possibility...

Considering all options they have it looks terribly bleak, but they’ve nevertheless got to _try,_ haven’t they?

And in any case, Erik won’t let anyone attack Charles if he can help it, and Charles, with the return of his telepathy, won’t be overpowered as easily either—unless more than a dozen people turn up to attack them at once, and Charles can’t get a proper hold on all of them at the same time. There are limits to his telepathy—Charles said so himself. But what will they do if the whole crew of a ship is against them? Charles can’t wipe them all out (not that Erik would ever ask him to, after seeing how much the last time still pains him), and they wouldn’t be able to fly a whole ship by themselves anyway. So they ultimately do depend on the good intentions of their saviours, however dangerous that may be.

Charles is sitting on the floor of their cabin, filling water from a pot into several metal bottles Erik has moulded from old tins, as water is the only thing not in the shuttle in large quantities. They got rather lucky in the sense that they’d just run out of food when the shuttle landed, which was equipped—as customary—with another survival kit including a few tins, some shrink-wrapped bread and dried fruit, as well a bag of nuts—just like last time.

Those rations will definitely last for the three days they can survive in space, and everything after that doesn’t matter much anyway. They’ll either be on a ship, and will have enough food, or they’ll be dead.

“Done,” Charles says, turning his head to look at Erik. “We can go.” He sounds as uncertain as Erik feels.

But there’s no space for doubts now. They’ve made their decision, and they’ll stick to it, and if it kills them.

Which is quite likely.

“Right,” Erik says, forcing his face into a light smile, though he’s aware that Charles will know how he really feels anyway. “I’ll pack those and then…” His voice trail away, but it doesn’t matter. They both know what’s going on.

Since the shuttle is built for six people they’ve got more than enough room to store their few belongings. Erik tosses the bottles onto one of the back seats, right next to the chess pieces and the chunk of floorboard which Charles ripped out, and into which Erik carved the chessboard they played on so often.

When Erik returns to the cabin, Charles has already pulled himself onto his metal sledge and is waiting for Erik, kneading his hands nervously, his blue eyes widened in visible agitation. The sight makes Erik want to pull him into his arms and never let go, just stay where they are, holding on to each other.

But what good will that do?

No. They’ve got to take their chance, the only chance they’ve got. And if it doesn’t work out, if they don’t encounter a ship in time, Erik will hold Charles while they both take their last breaths. At least neither of them will have to die alone.

Charles doesn’t say a word as Erik pulls him through the snow towards the shuttle, and neither as he lifts him inside. Erik, too, has difficulty finding the right words, and so he just quickly squeezes the other man’s arm.

When Charles sits securely buckled up in the co-pilot’s seat, Erik can see his blue eyes fixed longingly on the tiny wooden cabin some yards away. They were happy here. It’s the first place Erik could honestly call home since his parents’ hut was burnt down, and it’s obvious Charles feels similarly.

He’s about to leave his home behind for the second time in his life.

Erik finds he can’t bear looking at the cabin, too afraid of losing his composure. He can’t break down now. They’ve got to do this. And so he keeps his eyes fixed on the controls instead, closing the doors with a press of the right button, and adjusting all necessary settings.

“Ready?” he asks Charles after a few moments.

“Hmm,” Charles only replies, and it sounds as though his mouth is shut tightly.

Erik takes his hand. “I’m with you,” he says, even though he knows it can’t be much of a comfort in light of what might happen once they’re in space again.

But Charles smiles, albeit faintly, and squeezes his hand back. “I know,” he says quietly. “And I’m with you. Whatever happens.”

Erik feels a questioning nudge in his mind, like he’s felt a few times since Charles regained control over his telepathy, and he nods his permission, his throat tight with emotion.

Then Charles is there, everywhere, and Erik closes his eyes, giving himself over to the warm and tight embrace inside of him that makes his heart swell. What does he have to fear if he’s with Charles?

 _I love you,_ he hears Charles voice in his mind, and there’s so much warmth in it, and so much warmth accompanying it, that Erik’s chest tightens.

 _I love you too,_ he sends back. _Let’s do this together._

There’s a wave of affirmation, before Charles retreats again, and Erik opens his eyes to look deeply into Charles’ blue ones, squeezing his hand for a last time before he lets go.

Time to act. Finally.

The engine starts with a roar, and Erik is hit by a tiny spark of panic for a fraction of a second, and looks over at Charles questioningly.

Charles grimaces, his lips pressed tightly together. _Bad memories,_ he sends telepathically. _But it’s alright. Let’s go._

Of course Erik knows the memories Charles is talking about—his accident a few years ago—and he’s about to reach out and hold Charles’ hand again, when Charles sends him another wave of affirmation.

_I’m fine. Really. Let’s do this._

Erik nods. He knows Charles well enough to trust him in situations like these.

He pushes a few more buttons and the noise of the engine becomes louder and louder, getting ready to take off into the air and finally into space. After a moment the shuttle lifts off lightly about a foot, waiting for the signal to properly speed away.

Erik grabs the accelerator. There’s no turning back now.

He’s flown a shuttle before, several times in fact, but nevertheless the force of the acceleration hits him slightly by surprise after all this time of silence and calm. It feels as though half of his body is left behind in mid-air while the rest gets ripped away from it.

They shoot up, in the direction of the clouds, and then they’ve passed through them, bolting through blazing sunlight, through glowing layers of the atmosphere, up, up, and further away they go, their shuttle strong and barely shaking unlike last time.

Erik can sense Charles relaxing slightly next to him after a while, as they start leaving the planet truly behind them, but he doesn’t dare turn or take Charles’ hand again, too focused on getting them away from the planet safely.

It takes over half an hour for them to rise out of the planet’s atmosphere, but then they finally break free from the glow and sparks, and plunge into outer space.

Erik lets go of the accelerator as soon as the pressure on the shuttle lets up, and bends over the controls to type a random destination into the board computer, then sends the shuttle off on autopilot—there’s not much to do for a pilot as long as you’re in outer space. It’s take-off and landing that requires skill and training. When he straightens back up to take a first proper look out of the large screen and is confronted with the sight of neverending blackness, he can’t help his chest tightening painfully.

Him and Charles, their nutshell of a shuttle, are so tiny, so insignificant, that even the idea of hoping to get close enough to a ship to catch its signal within three days seems laughable.

Space is endless, as Erik’s father always used to say, and yes, there are ships travelling through it, but...how likely is it that any kind of ship will touch upon their path within the next three days? The probability must be ludicrously small.

What gave them hope in the first place? What lunacy made them think that there was any chance at all that they might be found? Or was it just the wish to end it before Charles would have to suffer too much? Charles’ painkillers and other medicine are almost used up after all, with only a few pills having been there in the first place. Perhaps that was all there was to their decision to leave the sanctuary of their planet—not having to face the difficult and painful times, because they would have been impossible to bear.

Erik starts as something touches his hand, but relaxes immediately when he realises it’s only Charles who has taken hold of it.

“It’s alright,” Charles says quietly. “Whatever happens...it’s alright, Erik.”

Erik can’t speak, so he just squeezes Charles’ hand back.

“I…” Charles continues, sounding upset. “I know how much the idea of Shaw getting away with everything he did pains you. I wish I could do something about that, but...I think for now it’s out of both our hands.”

“I just want you to be safe,” Erik manages to croak. “Yes, Shaw is—” He swallows. “But all that matters right now is...you, and the fact that I can’t—” He bites his lip, unable to go on.

“Don’t worry about me,” Charles says softly. “I’m alright. You’ve taught me so much—about myself, and about the universe, about people and mutants—things I would never have understood without you, and I’m not even a bit sorry that I crashed with you. Even if it kills us now, I don’t regret a thing. I...I like myself a lot better now than I ever did.”

When Erik risks a glance at Charles’ face, he’s sees a single tear running down his cheek, but nevertheless Charles is smiling at him. He looks...happy, sad, and calm all at once, which is perhaps the right response to their situation. There’s nothing they can do about it anyway.

Except talk. Share everything they haven’t shared yet, as long as they still can.

Why not make the best of the time that they have left if it’s all they’ve got?

“When I was a kid I used to imagine you were my friend, even though I’d never met you,” Erik says, his lips also curling into a small smile. “I used to talk to you in my head, at night, in my bed. I told you everything on my mind. It...felt as though you heard me.”

Charles’ smile is so warm, it almost makes Erik forget the hopelessness of their situation.

“It’s possible that I did,” Charles says, squeezing his hand again. “Especially if your district wasn’t too far from the palace or any of the other places I used to go. I heard a lot of voices when I was a kid—especially at night. I didn’t know what they were though. I learnt to blank them out at some point, but before that I heard...a lot of voices. And not just from people inside the palace”

Erik’s eyebrows shoot up in astonishment. “Your range is that large?”

Charles thinks for a moment. “Well, perhaps three or four miles. The signal gets less clear, and I can’t really get a grasp on the mind if it’s too far away, but simply listening in is usually possible.”

“That’s...amazing,” Erik says, stunned. He had no idea how powerful Charles’ mutation really is—though he should have guessed, after what he did to those men back at the cabin.

Charles sighs. “Perhaps. But back when I was a child it was hard to bear. Especially before I really understood what it meant. Now, I have to say, I’m kind of glad to have it back though. I feel a lot safer now, even though...” He vaguely gestures at his legs.

“I can imagine,” Erik responds earnestly. He doesn’t know what he’d do if someone took away his mutation. It’s his only weapon after all. He’d feel terribly powerless. “What else can you do that I don’t yet know about?”

Charles shrugs. “All sorts,” he says vaguely. “But don’t worry. I’m not going to—”

“I know,” Erik hastens to reassure him. “I trust you completely.”

It still surprises him. Trust. A completely foreign concept for years, and now he gives it willingly.

Charles smiles one of his warm smiles, that nevertheless looks tired and wary—not surprising given their situation. “Well, I don’t yet know the limits to my ability,” he says after a moment. “I know I can change people’s memory or perception, plant desires into their brains, or talk to them in their heads, but there are a lot of things that I haven’t tried. I hope I’ll never have to use most of them,” he adds thoughtfully.

They fall silent again, both pondering on one thing or another.

Charles is so much more than Erik could ever have guessed when they first met, both personality-wise, and as a mutant. If there’s one person in the universe who could put things right again, it has to be Charles—even though he himself doesn’t even know how powerful he is, how good and brave.

Charles snorts. “I’m none of these things, Erik. Honestly, I don’t think I’d make a great Emperor—no, let me speak,” he adds as Erik tries to object. “I used to think I wasn’t suited for the job because I was too weak. I’m no longer sure that’s true, but nevertheless I don’t believe one man should be in charge of several planets—not even one planet—or one nation, however small. I think that’s dangerous. We all have a side that yearns for power, and if we get access to it, it changes who we are. I don’t think I’m any different, and I don’t want to become that person.” He sighs deeply. “But I do accept that if we get out of this alive I have a moral obligation to try, because nobody else can.”

Erik hesitates. “If that happens I’ll be by your side...if you want me,” he says uncertainly.

Charles’ eyes are full of warmth as he looks at Erik. “I would love that,” he says quietly. “And not just as a friend and...lover.” He smiles at the word, as though hardly able to believe it. “I’d like you to advise me too. There are things about the state of the Empire that you understand much better than I do. I think you could really help me put things right again.”

Erik squeezes Charles’ hand again, his chest tighter than usual. He can’t believe the amount of trust Charles places in him. “Yes,” he croaks. “Let’s do it together.”

 

It’s strange how, within only a few hours, you can already fall into a routine.

They sleep in turns, at least one of them always awake to have an eye on the stars and asteroids rushing by, ready to react should something unexpected happen. They eat their tins cold, unable to start a fire in the shuttle, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. They’ve long since gotten used to the staleness of their meals.

Erik can tell that the matter of going to the toilet is still one thing that bothers Charles, even though Erik does his best to turn around and stare at the opposite wall whenever Charles uses the catheter. Unfortunately the space in the shuttle is far too limited for Erik to leave Charles more room to himself, but Erik can tell by the crooked smiles Charles gives him once he’s done that he appreciates the little privacy nonetheless.

It’s weird how _normal_ their situation feels after only a day—as though they’ve been on the shuttle for months, and not even a bit as though it’ll all be over again shortly. They eat, sleep for a few hours, stare through the screen into the neverending blackness, and just wait—wait duly for something to happen, while trying very hard to stop themselves from thinking too much about what it might be.

It’s like living in a cocoon, their eyes fixed straight ahead, hoping, waiting, their emotions forcefully held in check.

 

After two days have passed without a ship in sight, their transceiver quietly beeping away in regular intervals, and the fill level of the oxygen tanks has sunk to about a third, Erik can’t deny anxiety creeping back up on him. Even though he knew even before they took off that it was unlikely they’d encounter anyone in space, he finds himself being more and more agitated at the prospect of the inevitability of death.

What happens when you suffocate? Will it hurt? Or will they maybe just slowly drift off and never wake again? Will he have to watch Charles suffer without being able to help? Erik couldn’t do that, he really couldn’t. And isn’t Charles the more important of the two of them? Charles has a chance of becoming Emperor when this is over. He could make a real change for billions of people all over the galaxy, while all Erik could do would be to get revenge. But does that really matter in the end?

What if Erik gave Charles a better chance at getting saved? Another day of oxygen that would be otherwise wasted in Erik’s lungs? Perhaps nothing would come out of it, but at least—

“Don’t you even think about it,” Charles mumbles from the co-pilot’s seat. “It’s the two of us, or neither of us. You said it yourself. We need to stick together.”

Telepath. Of course. How could Erik forget and think that his deliberation would remain undetected? And Charles is right of course. Erik did say that, but if the future of the whole Empire depends on it—

“I’ll freeze you if I have to.” Charles’ eyebrows are raised. He looks determined, and also a little annoyed.

It makes Erik smile in spite of himself. “Alright,” he chuckles softly. “Point taken.”

They fall silent again, Charles staring out of the large front window into the blackness of space, Erik’s eyes fixed on the little red lamp on the controls.

 _Light up,_ he tells it mentally. _Come on, light up. We haven’t got a lot of time._

They hardly move or talk that day, both determined not to breathe any more than necessary, though they both know that it won’t make that big of a difference anyway.

Erik keeps throwing glances at the oxygen tanks. The little light indicating its fill level—once green at take-off—has now turned a rather dark shade of orange, the number on the display betraying the remaining time of their lives. About five hours.

Time’s almost up.

At four hours to go, Charles’ hand finds Erik’s, and Erik squeezes back, determined not to let go of it before it’s over. Charles looks pale in his seat, defeated, but no longer scared, though they both know that might change again before long.

At three hours to go, Charles’ head sinks onto Erik’s shoulder, and Erik is terrified for a moment, worried that Charles might be fainting already, until he feels Charles’ soft lips on his neck, Charles’ free hand unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.

Erik’s free hand finds its way into Charles’ outgrown hair, and he turns his head slightly to be able to press soft kisses to Charles’ forehead.

 _Let’s have this,_ Charles’ voice says in Erik’s head. _Please. I want to be close to you._

Erik just nods, knowing that, even though Charles can’t see his face, he’ll know that Erik wants it.

 _Backseat?_ Charles asks.

Erik bends to the side to pick Charles up, as the telepath wraps his arms around Erik’s neck. The last times that Erik had to carry Charles, he could practically feel the other man’s humiliation at being carried like a child, but this time Charles just smiles up at him softly. Perhaps the looming prospect of death washed it away.

What is there to be ashamed of if you’re going to be dead within three hours?

Erik lays Charles down on his back on the backbench, then sinks down on his side beside him, their bodies touching chest-to-hips-to-legs. For a moment they just look at each other, their eyes full of warmth and unconcealed sadness.

One last time.

Slowly, sensuously, Charles unbuttons the rest of the buttons on Erik’s shirt and slides it off of his shoulders, while Erik does the same to him. Then Charles is there, his chest bare before Erik, ready to be touched—something they haven’t done properly in the last days, with so much going on. Charles’ tender hands explore Erik’s skin like they’ve never done before—unhurried, yet curious. It’s the first time they don’t have all the time in the world, and yet, strangely, it’s also the first time that they allow themselves to proceed without haste.

There are so many patches of skin on Charles’ chest that Erik feels he hasn’t touched enough, perhaps never until now. He can’t miss this last chance, and so he maps out every freckle he can find with his lips and fingertips, while Charles’ fingers trail along his face, ears, and hair.

How is it fair that so shortly after they’ve finally admitted how they feel, they’ll be ripped apart again in the cruelest way? They could have had so much more time to be truly together, had they only been brave enough, and now...so little time remains.

 _Don’t think like that,_ Charles whispers softly in Erik’s head. _I’m grateful for every second._

Their lips find each other, soft and gentle. It’s as though they’re both trying to absorb every moment of it, every touch and every taste. For what though? Trying to store the memory in their minds, even though their minds and memories will soon be gone?

 _Erik, please,_ Charles’ telepathic voice says softly.

Erik pulls himself together. He can’t ruin this for Charles. If he can see Charles happy and calm for a last time, he’ll take it. He’ll make sure Charles’ last moments are amongst the best of his life.

Erik breaks the kiss and allows his lips to travel down Charles’ face, then over his neck and finally onto his chest. He kisses, licks, and bites the skin softly, absorbing every soft moan coming from Charles’ mouth, every tensing of Charles’ fingers in his hair. As Erik licks around Charles’ nipple, Charles actually gasps out loud, prompting Erik to suck it carefully into his mouth.

_Erik..._

Even Charles’ telepathic voice is breathless. His fingers are trembling in Erik’s hair and on his shoulders, and his moans are getting louder.

So this is how sex would work between them from now on, Erik catches himself thinking. It would be different, but it would still be good and intense. Why didn’t they use the last days they had to explore this? They don’t have enough time now to try everything—and Charles deserves it so much. If only they—

Erik’s thoughts are cut short by a loud beeping noise, and he straightens up abruptly, propping himself up on his hands over Charles’ pale and trembling body. For a moment he has trouble allocating the noise, all his senses on high alert from the urgency in the alarm.

“The transceiver,” Charles gasps, still sounding breathless. “There’s a signal. Quick, Erik!”

Within a moment, Erik is in the pilot’s seat, pressing the button of the speaker, noticing Charles sit up in the backseat in the corner of his eye.

“Hello?” Erik asks into the microphone, still half-convinced he won’t get an answer. “We’re stranded in space in a shuttle, and are about to run out of oxygen. Please save us.”

He repeats the message several times, hoping against hope that the signal will be strong enough to deliver his message, and uncomfortably aware of the similarity between this moment and the one in the telegraph’s hut a few days ago. It doesn’t have to mean it’ll end as badly though. It can be good, if only...

For a while, however, there is no reply, though the transceiver keeps beeping away.

What if nobody is in the radio room? What if they don’t care about two lost souls in space? What if they don’t speak the same language? What if it’s Shaw again and they’re truly going to be finished now?

The transceiver crackles, and there’s a voice beneath all the noise, but Erik can’t make out any words.

“Hello?” he repeats again, desperate. “We’re running out of oxygen, please help!”

The transceiver crackles again, and the voice grows clearer for a moment. _“Hello? How many?”_

“Two!” Erik yells into the microphone, hoping he got the question right. “There’s two of us!”

The voice speaks again, but the crackling drowns out what they say. What if the people on the other end can’t hear them either? But they should be able to locate them, shouldn’t they? How long will it take them though? There’s not a lot of oxygen left. If they’re too late, if Charles suffocates—

“Quick, please!” Erik yells at the machine. “We’re running out of oxygen. Please, be quick!”

Another incoherent jumble of words underneath the crackling, and then the crackling dies away, as the other people clearly switch off their microphone. The light keeps flashing, however, which means the signal is still there.

Did it work? Did the people understand? Are they going to be saved? And will they make it in time?

A glance at the oxygen tanks tells Erik they have about an hour and a half left. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? If those people are truly going to find them, it’ll be enough, won’t it? Or will they expect him and Charles to find _them?_ Do they even have enough fuel for that?

With trembling fingers Erik pulls up the tracker to see the location of the ship they communicated with. They’re not even that far away, and—

“Charles, they’re coming closer.” His voice is shaking with emotion. “That’s it. They’re coming. We’re going to be—”

What? _Safe?_ For a moment, that’s what it feels like, but then all the other possible scenarios come back to him. They have no idea who these people are, whether they’re friend or foe. Yes, Charles and him might not suffocate now, but what’ll happen to them next? Anything seems possible.

“How long?” Charles asks quietly from the back seat, causing Erik to turn around in his seat. Charles’ chest is still bare, like Erik’s, and he looks nervous.

“I don’t know,” Erik replies. “A few minutes perhaps.”

Charles licks his lips and nods. “I think we should get dressed and...get ready,” he mutters uncertainly.

They put their shirts back on before Erik helps Charles climb back into the co-pilot’s seat, and then they wait, staring out of the window.

 _You go first,_ Charles tells Erik mentally. _I’ll try and find out who they are and tell you telepathically—that way they won’t know what we’re talking about._

Erik nods slowly. The plan sounds alright by him, though if these people do turn out to be enemies rather than friends, it’s still unlikely they’ll be able to get away again.

“I love you, Erik,” Charles mumbles, not looking at him. “Whatever happens now...I love you.”

Erik takes his hand and squeezes it, his chest tightening. “I love you too,” he whispers back, his voice trembling.

Charles gasps as the enormous body of a dark ship comes into sight, growing and growing, until it blocks the view completely.

It doesn’t look modern, Erik notices, doesn’t that mean it’s not part of the Empire’s fleet?

Pirates then? Or rebels? Perhaps innocuous salespeople?

Charles lets go of Erik’s hand as a large hatch in the ship’s side opens. For a moment, Erik wants to grab hold of it again, desperately needing the comfort, but then he remembers he’ll need his hands to control the shuttle—and they don’t know how the people inside the ship will react to two men holding hands anyway. Homosexuality is outlawed in the Empire after all.

The realisation makes Erik’s insides churn uncomfortably. He almost forgot about that. They’re about to step back into a world that condemns them for who they are—not just as mutants, but as lovers too. After all this time that they were free, they’re going to have to hide now.

Erik feels a nudge in his mind, and realises he’s been gripping the accelerator and control stick very tightly, but hasn’t made the shuttle move at all yet. The gaping opening in the ship right before them looks more threatening than hardly anything ever has before in his life.

But what choice does he have? It’s either death or this. This way at least they have a chance.

Erik throws Charles a last glance, trying to memorize every feature of his face, before he pushes the accelerator forward and the shuttle sets into motion, toward the illuminated hole in the side of the enormous ship.

 

END OF PART ONE


	16. 2.1 Charles

PART TWO: Battle 

 

Charles’ fingers are pressed so firmly to his temple it hurts.

As the hatch slides closed behind them again he can’t quite help feeling trapped, even though he’s well aware they’d have been dead within an hour if they hadn’t been found by the ship that let them in. There’s a loud noise as the hatch locks completely, and for a moment their shuttle is the only thing in a large and brightly illuminated room, though Charles is sure that the huge sliding gates right in front of them will open at any moment.

“Anything?” Erik whispers quietly, urgently.

 _I’m trying,_ Charles sends back. _The walls are incredibly thick._

It’s been a long time since Charles last used his telepathy on a spaceship. He remembers the thick metal walls obstructing the range of his telepathy even then. The two weeks he spent on a space trip with Kurt when he was fifteen make for a particularly bad memory. He constantly had a migraine from the walls obstructing his power, which made it turn inward and almost drove him crazy. That was before he managed to control his mutation properly.

Right now all Charles can sense is distant murmuring, and the occasional whiff of an emotion. There’s definitely wariness behind the walls, but that doesn’t say much—these people don’t have any more of an idea of what to expect than Charles and Erik do themselves. He’s desperately searching for any hint of hostility, or bad intention, but he can hardly grasp anything at all.

There’s a grinding noise and the massive doors slowly move to the side. The grip of Charles’ free hand tenses on the arm rest of his seat as he puts all his concentration into reading the minds behind the doors that are becoming clearer by the second.

About twenty people, far too many to properly read them all at once, but a few will do.

More wariness and mistrust hits Charles as the opening grows larger, but also curiosity. Charles quickly dives deeper in order to examine their intentions and memories, trying to get a good picture of who he and Erik are dealing with before it’s too late.

There’s a wave of agitation coming from Erik sitting beside him as the people enter, all fully armed, their weapons drawn. He’s ready to defend them both, Charles can tell, ready to crush every single one of these people with the metal surrounding them, and crumble their weapons into useless metal balls.

 _Don’t,_ Charles sends quickly. _They’re not going to attack us. Lift up your hands._

He does so himself, and he sees Erik follow his instruction too out of the corner of his eyes, though reluctantly.

 _Now slowly get out with your hands up,_ Charles instructs Erik further. _Tell them what happened to us, but don’t mention who I am yet. Stay calm, no abrupt movements._

Charles watches nervously as Erik does as he’s told, slowly, carefully approaching the people waiting some yards away. They’re rebels, Charles knows now, and they have no intention of harming them as of now, but if Erik acted in a threatening way, they might well choose to attack him, and Charles probably wouldn’t be able to hold them all back. There’s far too many of them.

 _Stop there,_ Charles tells Erik, as he’s almost reached the rebels and Charles senses a rush of agitation from them at Erik coming closer and closer. _Wait for them to approach you now._

Erik’s mind is well-ordered and controlled, just like usual, though Charles can feel his nervousness bubbling right under the surface, as he comes to a halt, his hands still in the air.

 _Trust me,_ Charles sends along with a soft and encouraging caress. _They won’t hurt you if you stay calm._

A young woman with brown hair wearing a dark uniform steps forward. That alone makes it obvious that they can’t have been picked up by a ship of the Empire’s fleet—women don’t get to work on spaceships in the Empire.

“Who are you?” she asks. Her tone is gruff, but not threatening. Charles senses curiosity more than anything radiating from her in waves.

“We’re...castaways,” Erik replies after a moment’s hesitation, his arms still in the air. “We managed to get away on a shuttle, but we were about to run out of oxygen when you found us.”

The young woman’s—Kitty Pride, Charles reads in her mind—eyes narrow as they wander in the direction of the shuttle, where Charles still sits in the co-pilot’s seat. “This shuttle belongs to the Empire. How did you acquire it?”

There’s a spike of uncertainty coming from Erik as he wonders what to reveal.

 _Tell her the truth,_ Charles sends quickly. _They’re rebels. Tell her the Empire wants us dead._

“The Empire sent men to kill us,” Erik says in a calm voice. “We managed to overpower them and take their shuttle.”

Intrigue sparks through the room, coming from several people at once.

Kitty Pride takes a moment to consider his reply, but Charles can tell she’s just as intrigued as her fellows, even though a shred of suspiciousness remains. Her eyes flick to Erik’s wrist, held high up in the air, where his jacket has slid down about an inch. “You’re a mutant,” she says in what is unmistakably an intrigued, but also cautious tone. “What’s your mutation?”

 _She’s a mutant too,_ Charles tells Erik quickly, before Erik can jump to any false conclusions. _She can make objects intangible and pass through them._

There’s no doubt that Erik is impressed by this information, and that his respect for the young woman talking to him surges at once. “I’m a Metallokinetic,” he replies calmly.

She makes an impressed noise. “Handy,” she says. “That means searching you for weapons will be rather pointless, right?”

_She appreciates your honesty, Erik. Well done. I think she believes you._

“Yes, I’d say so,” Erik says, and there’s no denying the amused undertone in his voice.

She nods back at the shuttle. “What about your friend? Why hasn’t he come with you?”

Erik hesitates.

 _Tell her,_ Charles encourages him. _But don’t reveal who I am yet._

“He’s...he can’t walk,” Erik says after a moment. “He suffered a spinal injury,” he adds at the questioning look on her face.

She’s shocked, and not only she. All the minds around her whirl, wondering what might have happened to him.

“Recently?” she asks in a surprisingly worried tone.

“No. It’s an old injury,” Erik explains. After a mental nudge from Charles he adds, “we’d like to explain it all to your Captain—or is that you?”

She actually laughs at this. “Hell no. But I can bring you to her if you want—and I can get your friend a wheelchair too.”

“That would be great, thank you,” says Erik, sounding more earnest and polite than Charles would have thought possible, and finally daring to slowly let his arms drop to his sides.

 _I think they can help us,_ Charles tells Erik as Kitty Pride waves to one of her companions who nods and walks away quickly. _As far as I can tell they’re organising to overthrow Kurt. If we can convince them that we want the same thing, I think we might find real allies in them. But we’ll have to be completely honest with them,_ he adds as an afterthought.

It takes only a few minutes for the young man to return with a simple manual wheelchair. It’s not much, it doesn’t compare with the automatic hover chair Charles used in the few months before he started taking the serum, and yet it feels like the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen in his life after those few days of total dependence. Mobility. Getting around on his own. Making his own choices on where to go and how fast. What a luxury.

They’re led through several corridors and into a lift taking them almost all the way up to the top. As they exit they find themselves in a corridor lined with windows, and Charles can’t quite help gazing avidly outside at the stars rushing by much more quickly than they did in the shuttle. He didn’t even realise they’d taken off again.

“I’m Kitty by the way,” Kitty Pride says, half turning back to them while walking.

She’s taking a big risk by trusting them and escorting them straight to the Captain, Charles reads in her mind, but luckily for them she just decided to follow her instinct.

“Erik,” Erik says to Charles’ surprise.

 _Not Max?_ he asks telepathically. When he first met Erik he got the impression that Erik was very keen on hiding his real identity.

Erik smiles lightly. _No point,_ he replies. _Not here._

Charles can only just suppress a wide smile at hearing Erik send telepathic words for the first time. It still sounds slightly clumsy, and perhaps a little too loud—his technique definitely needs improvement—but nevertheless it’s great to hear him try, to know they share this very special connection.

“And you?” Kitty asks, not in an unfriendly way, looking at Charles directly.

Charles realises only then that he hasn’t actually spoken aloud yet. He must seem terribly aloof to her and her fellows.

“Charles,” he says after a moment’s hesitation.

He can’t lie to them, or all the trust they’ve built so far would burst like a bubble. Nevertheless he hopes that his stubble and haggard looks prevent her from guessing his identity just yet.

Her eyes linger a little longer on his face than he’s comfortable with, and he can sense a spike of understanding coming from her mind, but then she just smiles as she comes to a halt, knocking on a door and sticking her head inside to exchange some quiet words with somebody else.

Next she steps back, holding the door open for them, and gesturing them inside. “Captain MacTaggert is ready to meet you.”

Captain MacTaggert turns out to be another woman, hardly much older than Charles and Erik themselves. She approaches them, walking around a desk, pulling up two chairs, and offering one to Erik before taking a seat on the one left.

“So you’re the castaways we picked up,” she says with a smile.

She seems sweet, but Charles can tell that she’s used to getting her way, used to fighting for what she wants and thinks is right. The fact that in Kurt’s Empire women are generally expected to be good housewives and birthing machines is mainly the reason why the rebel settlements and armies are mostly made up of women.

And that, in turn, is mainly why Kurt refuses to take them seriously.

“Yes, we are,” Charles says with a smile. “Thank you for rescuing us. We’d be dead now if you hadn’t found us. We’ll be forever in your debt.”

A spark of wonder crosses her mind at the sound of his voice and accent and her eyes rake his face curiously. It’s obvious that he won’t be able to hide his true identity from her for long—and he doesn’t think doing so is a good idea anyway.

“I think you might find this hard to believe,” he begins, choosing a direct approach because he senses that she already half-guessed the truth anyway. “But I’m Charles Xavier, Brian Xavier’s son.”

Her mouth opens somewhat and she straightens up a little, but doesn’t speak, simply waiting for him to go on.

Charles senses a wave of nervousness from Erik beside him and sends a reassuring nudge back. _It’s alright. It’s going well._

“People acting by order of my mentor, Kurt Marko, attempted to assassinate me while I was on my accession trip across the galaxy, but they failed. Some time later they rediscovered and attempted to kill me and my companion again, but we got away on their shuttle, before you found us. That’s how we ended up here.”

It’s the short version, and that in itself is already a lot to digest, Charles is only too aware of that, but the signals he receives from Moira are those of a woman of both brain and action. She’s already figured almost everything out in her head, and is working out a plan.

“The palace is promulgating that you were kidnapped and murdered, did you know that?” she asks thoughtfully after a moment.

Erik huffs. “Kidnapped by me?”

She turns to him, smiling crookedly. “Is your name Erik Lehnsherr a.k.a. Max Eisenhardt?”

Erik’s eyes widen. “Yes, it is.”

She laughs humourlessly. “Then yes, that is what they’re saying. I guess they set you up?”

“Looks like it,” Erik grumbles.

“What the palace says is false,” Charles interjects. “Erik hasn’t laid a finger on me.”

There’s a spark of amusement coming from Erik. _That’s hardly true though._

Charles almost laughs.

MacTaggert looks curiously from one to the other. “So what are your plans?”

Charles licks his lips. So far all he thought about was staying alive, but now that things are going so well… “To end Kurt Marko’s reign of terror,” he responds decisively. “To restore all the good things he managed to destroy as Emperor. I have a right to the throne, which gives me leverage against him.” He hesitates. “Even though I’m no supporter of autocracy.”

The Captain’s eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn’t interrupt him.

“There are steps that I had set for when I would have become Emperor, people I talked to,” Charles continues, his voice trembling slightly. It seems risky to share this—he hasn’t even told Erik yet, but nevertheless now seems like the right moment. “I wanted to completely turn the system inside out, have a new constitution written, and set up a democratic order. A few weeks back I didn’t know a lot of people I trusted with this job, but now...now I can think of a few. That’s what I want to do.”

Charles softly touches upon MacTaggert’s mind, trying to find out whether she believes him or not. The incredulity and amazement radiating off of Erik’s mind is rather distracting, however.

 _I’ll explain later,_ Charles sends reassuringly.

MacTaggert is just as stunned as Erik. Clearly her whole world view must have been shaken violently in the last few minutes, but nevertheless Charles senses much less doubt coming from her than he expected. For some reason she believes him—perhaps because of the simple fact that Kurt tried to kill him.

“Within rebel circles we always suspected that your disappearance had been Marko’s doing,” the Captain says thoughtfully after a moment. “Marko is a power hungry man, and we never expected him to step back and allow you to take his place unchallenged. Your reappearance changes everything,” she adds with a smile. “And call me naive, but I believe you. Marko’s enemy is my friend. I’d like to work with you, Mr. Xavier, if you’re interested in that.”

Relief washes over Charles- his own, coupled with Erik’s, leaving him slightly giddy. He needs to make one thing sure, however. “I want Erik by my side.”

She nods. “Of course. I’ll consult with the other rebel groups. It might take some time to get them all together and convince them, but I think I have a good chance. They all want Marko gone as much as we do after all. Then we need to work out a plan. I’ll need more details from you—everything you can tell me—but not now. I think you probably need some rest.”

“There’s one more thing,” Charles interjects quickly. If he doesn’t tell her now, he never will. “I’m a telepath. I thought you should know.”

She’s clearly taken aback, but she’s quick to hide it. “Useful,” she says after a moment. “I’ll keep that in mind. I take it Marko knows?”

“He does,” Charles affirms.

MacTaggert nods slowly, thoughtfully. “Sounds like something he would keep quiet about. His mutant policies are the reason why so many mutants have joined us so far—to our great advantage, and his disadvantage. Marko is digging his own grave, and now I think we almost have him cornered.” Her eyes fall on Charles’ wheelchair. “Marko’s doing too?”

Charles nods. “Another assassination attempt.”

Incredulity and shock dominate her mind for a moment, until she gets herself back under control. “Bastard,” she murmurs. Then she smiles. “Since you’re going to stay, you should know we all use first names here. I’m Moira.”

Charles smiles back. “Charles.” Though she obviously knew that.

“Erik,” grumbles Erik beside him.

“I’ll have someone take you to your cabins, while I try and get in touch with the other ships,” she continues. “I’m afraid we’re all equal here, so there are no larger or more comfortable cabins on this ship,” she adds, looking at Charles, her eyebrows raised.

Charles’ ears grow hot. “I don’t want special treatment,” he says quickly. “Don’t worry. But—” he hesitates, his ears growing even hotter. “Do you have any double cabins?”

Her eyes flick from him to Erik and back, looking slightly taken aback. After a moment, however, her lips curl into the softest smile Charles has seen on her yet. “We don’t, but we do have twin cabins. I’ll make sure you’re put in the same one.”

“Thank you,” Charles breathes out, relieved. “Thank you so much.”

 

The cabin is tiny, so tiny that Charles only just manages to manoeuvre around it in his wheelchair. The little bathroom, too, hardly provides enough room for Charles to pull himself onto the toilet seat from his chair, but nevertheless it’s a vast improvement from the last days. It’s cosy really, and they even thought of providing the shower with a little chair for him to sit on.

There’s a bottle of water on each of their bedside tables, as well as some fruit, and clothes in the closet—simple, but fresh and clean. Then there’s soap, shampoo, toothpaste and two brand-new razors and toothbrushes in the bathroom—it feels like paradise after those last weeks.

About an hour and a half after they’ve settled in and have both had the chance to shower and refresh themselves, a doctor knocks on their door, and Erik ventures into the corridor, while the young woman notes down all the medication and medical equipment Charles needs. To Charles’ great relief she assures him that everything he needs is on the ship in adequate quantity, and that she’ll make sure he gets what he requires.

When she’s gone, Charles pulls himself on one of the beds, lying back, and staring at the ceiling, hardly able to believe that the situation is real.

Only a few hours ago he was sure he was going to die. He was ready for it, determined to make the best of the last hours he had and now—now he’s in a comfortable bed, in fresh and intact clothes, for the first time in what feels like ages, he had a warm shower, shaved himself properly again, and had some fruit—real fresh fruit!—which the rebels must have picked up from some planet only a few days ago.

Plus, they’ve definitely found an ally in Moira. She believes them, and she’s willing to work with them. Perhaps she’ll even manage to round up an army before they get to Earth. For once, things aren’t looking completely hopeless anymore.

If only there was a way for Charles to let Raven and Logan know that he’s alright.

The door slides open and Erik enters, smiling softly as he spots Charles on the bed. “Alright if I join you?”

Charles shifts a little to one side, pulling his legs after him.

There isn’t much room, but they make it work. They’ve been sleeping in a narrow bed together for quite a while after all. For a few minutes they just lie there in silence, their fingers intertwined, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing.

“Why did you never tell me about your plans for the Empire?” Erik asks quietly at some point. There is no resentment radiating off of him, just curiosity.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Charles replies honestly. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to try, and I didn’t want to talk about a world that will never be. The thought of the chance that I’d missed was too painful.” He turns his head to look into Erik’s eyes. “Now it’s possible,” he mutters. “Though I can still hardly believe it.”

It’s silent for a moment, before Erik speaks again, tentatively. “Do you trust Moira?”

Charles smiles softly at the concern in Erik’s voice. “Yes, I do. I’ve read her mind. She’s genuine.”

“Don’t you think she might just be using you?”

Charles shrugs. “Depending on the perspective, I’m sure she is—just like we are using her. This is a great chance for her people, and of course they’re trying to get something out of it. But I don’t think she’ll betray us. I didn’t get that impression at all.”

Erik frowns as he looks back at him. “I trust you,” he says quietly after a moment. “But I’m having trouble trusting her and her people. What if they fuck us over?”

Charles gently strokes his thumb along Erik’s cheek. “Trust me you can trust her then. Besides, they’re the only chance we have, aren’t they?”

Erik’s not entirely convinced, but Charles is not surprised by that. Erik hasn’t trusted anyone in a long time after all—these things don’t grow overnight. And Charles understands him only too well—he only manages to trust anyone because he knows his mutation will help him detect any dishonesty at once.

God, how glad he is to have his telepathy back, even if it means the lower part of his body is completely useless.

Even though the subject clearly isn’t concluded for Erik, he seems fine letting it rest for a while, instead covering Charles’ face with kisses and carding tender fingers through his hair, his thumb trailing softly over Charles’ bottom lip to his chin. “Care to finish what we started in the shuttle?” he murmurs against Charles’ lips.

“I’m not sure if our hosts would appreciate that. They could call us any minute.”

Erik grins. “They told me we had another three hours to rest before dinner, when I was out in the corridor.”

“Well, in that case…”

Their shirts are shed quickly, and their fingers back to exploring each other’s chests, remembering exactly where they were interrupted so shortly ago. Erik seems determined to find out exactly how to make Charles squirm and gasp, leaving Charles very little room in his own head for feeling self-conscious or insecure at the new situation.

At least to begin with.

As things start to get more heated, some of it seeps through, and Charles can’t help wondering what Erik expects to happen, or how well he understands what Charles can and can’t do. On the shuttle these thoughts didn’t bother Charles at all—he knew everything was almost over, and he had such a strong, almost selfish determination to make the last moments count that he didn’t spend even a second doubting himself or Erik’s feelings for him. Now, however, the two of them might have a future together. _This_ might become a regular activity, and if Erik doesn’t find pleasure in it, if he finds the lack of response from Charles’ body off-putting, if he expects Charles to perform in ways he can’t, what is the fucking point?

The longing to just dive into Erik’s mind and extract his expectations and desires is so strong that Charles can only just hold himself back. But communication is key. He’s learnt as much in those last weeks. Telepathy is no substitute for a real conversation, and this is one they need to have now. He can’t keep going like this. Definitely not.

“Erik,” he gasps, as Erik’s kisses become more eager and his hands on Charles’ chest more demanding. “I think we should talk about this.”

Reluctantly Erik pulls back, staring at Charles with his mouth slightly open, his pupils blown. “Okay,” he breathes out, sounding slightly dizzy.

Charles licks his lips, seeing Erik’s eyes dart to the point almost at once, the spike of arousal coming from him at the sight impossible to ignore. Nevertheless, this is something they need to talk about now, however uncomfortable it might be.

And it will be terribly uncomfortable, even humiliating.

“You know that...well...my cock doesn’t really work, right?” Charles asks awkwardly, his ears growing hot.

Erik’s eyes wander up to Charles’. “Can you tell me exactly what works and what doesn’t?”

“Well,” Charles begins, uncomfortably aware of the way his whole face seems to be burning. “It sometimes reacts, but only for a moment, and sometimes it doesn’t do anything. It’s...unreliable at best. And I won’t feel it if you touch it anyway, so…” He chooses to stare at the ceiling rather than at Erik, unable to bear the possible look of pity or disappointment on his face.

“Have you ever had sex after your crash and before you took the serum?” Erik asks quietly.

Charles laughs humourlessly. “Seriously? Who would—I mean…”

And all of a sudden he’s back in his room in the palace, the doctors, Raven and Logan having been sent outside, Kurt the only other person in the room, sitting on a chair next to his bed, looking sour. Charles can feel the shame again, the inability to look into Kurt’s face and see the contempt in it.

_“Who will respect you now, like this?”_

Charles can still remember the exact wording, the disdain in Kurt’s voice, which in itself wasn’t new to him, but the extent of it nevertheless made him grasp his blanket more tightly.

_“What am I going to tell people? The future Emperor is a goddamn cripple? They won’t respect us anymore. People don’t respect weakness, and here you are, lying there like a fucking porcelain doll, just when I thought you might finally become a man. And now you’ll never be one.”_

The shame those words instilled in Charles, the humiliation...and that wasn’t the only time. Kurt was the one who basically locked Charles into his room, even after he’d gotten the hover chair. _“Until we’ve found a solution,”_ he used to say. _“People can’t know the Crown Prince is a cripple.”_

A lot of the time he didn’t speak at all but only stared at Charles or at his useless legs with what was unmistakably disgust in his face. Charles remembers shutting himself away, pretending to be using the toilet or shower, so as not to have to look Kurt in the eyes anymore.

Cain wouldn't come close to him anymore--which was perhaps the only good thing about Charles’ injury--but even though he no longer hurt Charles with fists, kicks, and pushes, Charles had a hard time shutting out the broad man's derisive thoughts, especially since Cain essentially shouted them at him--only too aware of Charles’ vulnerable state which made him more perceptive.

Raven and Logan were the only people Charles felt almost comfortable to have near himself at that time, and Hank, though he hardly knew him. They stood by his side, though he found their silences and sheepish looks hard to bear sometimes. Him and Logan had had a kind of rough friendship before the crash, shoving and poking each other for fun, with the occasional passionate night in between, but afterwards the only times that Logan touched him were to help him into his chair or onto the bed, and he always did so as though afraid of breaking him.

It wasn’t Logan’s fault. Charles didn’t make things easier by staring straight ahead half the day, not speaking, and brooding over his bad fortune. The idea of inviting Logan or anyone else into his bed then was laughable—and who’d want to anyway? If he couldn’t even bear the pitiful looks, how would he be able to bear the same thoughts in bed, perhaps intermingled with aversion, or even revulsion?

He tried touching himself a few times, but his heart wasn’t really in it, and his mind was disgusted by the lack of response from his own body. He soon started to look at his own body with the same kind of contempt he could see in Kurt’s eyes. It infuriated him that it wouldn’t work the way he wanted it to, and he started to mentally curse it for making his life so difficult, and for making him such a laughing stock—the fucking cripple Crown Prince who was supposed to reign over a huge Empire soon, over billions of people, and make all those important decisions, even though he couldn’t even make his own legs work, or his cock.

“Charles?” Erik’s voice is tentative, worried.

It requires all of Charles’ mental strength to pull himself back from the memories into the present, into Erik’s arms, the only place he feels loved—used to feel loved—and safe.

“I…” Charles croaks, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I just...all this. There’s some…” Charles closes his eyes, trying to find the right words, though he isn’t even sure what he’s really sorry about. His broken body? But Erik has been aware of that for a while now, and never showed any sign of aversion. What then? The fact that he can’t quite get rid of the deep hatred of himself that Kurt planted in his heart over so many years? How can he tell Erik about this? Erik, who has been through so many terrible times in his life that Charles’ own suffering seems absolutely laughable in comparison.

“Can you show me?” Erik asks softly. “Can you show me what’s on your mind?”

Charles hesitates. He could. He could show Erik exactly what happened, every single word that Kurt said, every disdainful look. He could make Erik feel his own shame, could make him experience what it’s like to desperately try and get your body to do things it won’t do, could make him witness the frustration, the anger, the humiliation and the fear of what people will say and think once they find out your body is broken.

“Yes,” Charles whispers. “If you want me to.”

Erik nods, looking wary but determined.

Charles presses two fingers to his own temple and lifts the other hand to touch Erik’s carefully, in order to ensure a perfect connection.

“Ready?” he asks, still uncertain whether he’s doing the right thing.

Erik nods, closing his eyes.

Charles takes a mental step back, as his memories flow into Erik’s mind. He neither needs nor wants to relive them again, and so he just watches from afar, as though peering around a corner into another room to watch television, while firmly keeping all of Erik’s emotions shut out of his head.

After what feels like ages of watching images and scenes rush past, Charles carefully withdraws again, his eyes, in spite of himself, searching Erik’s face for a reaction.

There are tears in Erik’s eyes, and his mouth is a thin line.

“I didn’t know I could hate Kurt Marko any more,” Erik presses out after a few seconds. “But I do now. What a fucking bastard.” His eyes are fixed on Charles’. “Don’t believe a word of what he said. He’s a pitiful excuse for a human being and you are...just wonderful, in every way.”

Erik’s lips taste salty as they find Charles’, but Charles can no longer tell whose tears they are.

“I love you, Charles,” Erik whispers against his lips. “Every part of you. Let me show you just how much.”

Erik’s lips are soft on Charles’ skin as he kisses along Charles’ jawbone to his ear, where he takes his time to nibble and suck on Charles’ earlobe, especially as Charles begins to moan softly, and grasp his shoulders tightly.

No lover has ever paid any attention to Charles’ ears like that before, and Charles had no idea just how sensitive they are. He’s unable to speak, but luckily he knows Erik doesn’t expect him to. Charles’ mental barriers drop as Erik’s attention turns to his neck, sucking and biting the soft skin carefully but nevertheless strongly enough to reduce Charles to a panting and groaning mess. Erik’s emotions are fervid, all desire, warmth, affection, and adoration of every speck of skin he reaches, every freckle, every sound escaping Charles’ mouth, their intensity washing over Charles, wrapping him up tightly and securely.

 _He loves me,_ Charles thinks through ripples of pleasure and waves of affection. _He loves me so much. More than I could have dreamt anyone ever would._

Erik continues sucking on Charles’ neck while his fingers find one of Charles’ nipples, brushing softly over it, sending sparks up Charles’ spine, and making Charles’ body quiver all over, as he can’t help moaning loudly. The finger is back at once—two fingers—kneading and caressing, encouraged by Charles’ response.

Erik’s body, pressed against Charles’ side, is radiating warmth just like his mind, moving against him in a way that makes it more than obvious that he’s just as turned on as Charles is himself, and yet he keeps going, seeking Charles’ pleasure rather than his own release, obviously mesmerised by Charles’ moans and gasps.

In a daze, hardly able to think properly, but more aware of what he wants and needs than he’s been in a long time, Charles takes Erik’s other hand, and guides it further down his stomach, to the patch of skin just above the point where his sensation fades.

Erik knows what to do at once, softly stroking along the sensitive skin, increasing the pressure as Charles keens desperately at the touch, his nerve endings on fire. Charles grabs Erik’s shoulder tightly, causing him to rub more forcefully still, as the hot sensation builds in the pool of Charles’ stomach, carrying him higher and higher, until he lets out the loudest gasp yet, clinging on to Erik’s body desperately.

It takes a while for Charles’ breathing to calm down somewhat, and for him to realise that he’s been digging his fingernails into the skin on Erik’s shoulder blades. He lets go at once, mumbling, “shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” only to be met by a soft chuckle from Erik.

“Don’t worry. I kind of liked it actually.”

Charles can't help smiling at that. “I did too. This was...I didn’t know it could be like that.”

“So it was good for you?” Erik asks hopefully.

“Wasn’t that obvious?”

In an instant Erik’s lips are on his again, and Charles is overwhelmed by a rush of giddy happiness and relief coming from the other man.

This meant just as much to Erik as it did to him, he realises. They’re truly in this together. In every way.

“Take off your trousers and sit up against the wall,” Charles orders, breaking the kiss and grinning mischievously at Erik.

“You don’t have to do this,” Erik says quickly, though the bulge in his pants betrays his arousal. “This was about you, not me.”

Charles laughs softly. “Well, I really want this. Please.”

 

Erik doesn’t protest for long, and by the time Charles is lying on his stomach between his legs, his lips wrapped tightly around Erik’s cock, Charles’ head bobbing up and down, the only noises Erik makes are guttural moans and gasps. Charles allows himself to slip into Erik’s mind just before he comes, getting carried away by the intensity of Erik’s climax and all the other emotions accompanying it.

Joy, belonging, love, and an all-encompassing feeling of finally having come home.


	17. 2.2 Erik

Life on the  _ Siren, _ Captain Moira MacTaggert’s ship, is much more eventful than Erik anticipated —and more exciting. Erik and Charles are free to explore every part of the ship they like, and even though Erik is no stranger to engine rooms, storerooms, and common rooms, the difference between the atmosphere on the Siren and that on the Magnificence is like night and day. People are more content, friendlier, and more interested in each other, not to mention that about eighty percent of the Siren’s crew are women, and almost all of them are mutants.

They’re back to an earthly twenty-four-hour rhythm—something Erik and Charles have some trouble adapting to at first, after some weeks of twelve-hour days, though they do manage after only a few days to sleep more than six hours at a stretch and not fall asleep in the middle of the day.

And their new home makes up for their troubles in many ways.

Charles is completely in his element, elated by the fact that everyone seems to like and respect him for once, eager to ask questions, and understand things about space travel nobody has ever bothered to teach him before, and in turn more than glad to share his own knowledge and have deep discussions about politics and genetics.

If it weren’t for the fact that Charles keeps throwing Erik warm smiles and giving him affectionate mental nudges, and the way Charles buries his head in Erik’s chest and holds on to him whenever they’re alone in their cabin, Erik might get jealous of how instantly charmed everyone seems to be by the man he loves. It’s no surprise in itself—Erik is fully aware that Charles is a beautiful person in every way—but nevertheless the fact that those people are rebels working against the Empire and Charles is the  _ Crown Prince _ of said Empire should make a difference, but it doesn’t. Barely a day has passed, when it already seems as though everybody has fallen in love with Charles.

Life, Erik realises in astonishment after a few days, is good to him for once, at least for the moment. He has everything he needs for the first time since his parents died, and he can’t help being content about all the things finally falling into place, about the safety, comfort, and company, even though he’s well aware it won’t last forever.

The thing that Erik likes most about life on the Siren, however, is not the atmosphere, and it isn’t the food or the comfortable bed, but the large number of mutants all proudly displaying their abilities. It’s the first time in his life that people don’t seem to regard their own and other people’s mutations as something shameful, something to hide away, but instead something to be proud of. While the general rule for mutants on Earth and on the Magnificence was to act as human as possible and not let anyone see their mutation if possible, on the Siren, it couldn’t be more different.

It’s almost impossible to walk through a corridor, or even less so to spend time in any of the common rooms, without encountering some kind of extraordinary power, like sparks flying through the air, or objects moving around by themselves, people walking through walls, or colourful and beautiful physical mutations. After only a day or so, Erik feels more accepted than he’s felt in a long time—possibly ever. People on the Siren aren’t afraid of his mutation—they admire him for it.

What Erik really doesn’t understand is why about a thousand mutants would choose to make a baseline human their Captain, instead of appointing one of their own—someone with a mutation especially suited for the job. What made them choose the arguably boring and talentless Moira?

_ She’s clever, Erik, _ Charles explains when he picks up on that thought of his.  _ And she’s strong, and decisive, and has good instincts. I don’t think they could have picked anyone better. _

Charles and Moira get along exceptionally well—something that bugs Erik more than any casual flirting of Charles with anyone else, though he tries to keep his annoyance to a minimum. He trusts Charles, so he knows there’s no need to worry about anything. Nevertheless he can’t quite help scowling whenever Moira comes to see Charles to tell him about the newest developments (she hardly ever talks to Erik directly, even though Charles tells him that’s only because he always stares at her in a threatening manner). However hard Erik tries, he can’t bring himself to trust her—the human who is in charge of so many mutants, even though it’s about time mutants took their destiny into their own hands.

Charles tells her everything that happened to them, and everything else that happened at the palace beforehand, while Erik only sits by and listens, both knowing that it’s important Moira knows the details, and annoyed by her mere presence. She always takes notes, wearing a frown, sometimes nodding in comprehension, and makes sure in turn to keep them both informed of her progress in contacting and convincing the other rebel ships.

Not all rebel groups are ready to work with Charles—that much becomes clear after only a few days. Moira gets called all sorts of things, from a traitor to an opportunist without principles, but she just shrugs and moves on, and even though Erik can’t find it in himself to like her, he also can’t help respecting her for her attitude. 

There are hopeful signals too, from at least two other ships, and Moira manages to arrange a meeting between all interested parties on a planet in a galaxy not that far from Earth. If they come to a positive conclusion after that meeting, they’ll be ready to act quite soon—whatever that means.

Though Erik enjoys the encounters with the other mutants and marvels in the display of their powers, he lives and breathes for the time he and Charles spend together in their tiny room every evening before they go to sleep, soaking up the time they have before they might fall back  into danger and uncertainty. It doesn’t even matter whether they have sex, or just lie huddled together, holding on to each other—just being with Charles is the only thing that matters, even though the sex is undeniably becoming even better and better the more Charles dares explore. And his will to do just that grows with every day along with his confidence.

Erik doesn’t mind going slow—he’d do anything to make Charles happy and comfortable—and the memory of what he witnessed in Charles’ mind, of all the humiliation Charles endured in conjunction with his disability makes him even more determined to make sure Charles is at ease with everything he does, and to make his lover know just how beautiful he is to Erik.

It’s therefore on Charles’ initiative that they try the tiny blue viagra pill he secretly requested from the doctor’s office. Erik wouldn’t have suggested it since he knows that Charles’ cock isn’t nearly the most sensitive part of his body, and is therefore happy to focus on other regions, like his lover’s earlobes, neck, nipples and that patch of skin on his abdomen. However, the mesmerised look on Charles’ face as Erik slowly sinks down onto his cock makes up for it all—not to mention the sensations and emotions overwhelming Erik at that moment.

He hasn’t done this in a long, long time—unable to trust anyone enough to make it work, his memories of the few times he tried it only painful—but with Charles it doesn’t feel dangerous at all, and it barely hurts, Charles giving Erik all the time he needs to adjust and relax. Erik offers everything he has and Charles takes it carefully, gently, patiently. Erik is safe with Charles, and he’s overwhelmed by the delicious and unexpected sparks that the touch of Charles’ fingers and then his cock send racing up his spine, as he moves slowly up and down.

“God, you look amazing like that, darling,” Charles breathes out, one of his hands on Erik’s leg, the other pinching his own nipple as Erik picks up his pace, and wraps his hand around his own cock, chasing the amazing warm and fuzzy feeling building in the pool of his stomach.

It’s then that Charles enters Erik’s mind during sex for the first time, intermingling their minds and doubling their sensations, until they both cry out in unison, and Erik collapses on top of Charles, who wraps his arms tightly around Erik’s trembling body, pressing soft kisses to his ear.

“Wow, that was…” Charles whispers after their breathing has calmed down somewhat. “Thank you, Erik. I can’t…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, too overcome by emotion to speak, but he doesn’t need to anyway, since their minds are still connected and Erik knows exactly what he’s thinking.

It was the most intense experience they’ve both ever had. Scarily intense, and yet...not scary at all.

How does it not frighten Erik to be so close to Charles and have him read him like an open book? How is he not scared by Charles knowing all his secrets and his deepest pain? How does he not have the desire to flee when Charles’ mind touches upon his?

Something has changed, not just now, but gradually, leading them to where they are. To love, and so much trust, and safety.

The last time Erik truly felt this safe was with his parents, before Shaw became administrator of their district—before everything went to hell, back when they were happy and whole. 

It’s odd that this moment is the first time Erik considers what his mother would think if she knew where he was now, and with whom. He never really thought about that, because deep down he knew she’d hate for him to become a killer, with his thirst for revenge the only thing to keep him alive. She’d have wanted him to be happy, to settle down, and find peace, find someone he loves, and who loves him back.

She’d probably be thrilled for him having finally found someone he loves and trusts. And she’d absolutely adore Charles if she’d gotten the chance to meet him. Perhaps that’s his biggest loss of all—the fact that his parents will never know that he did indeed find happiness again, and love, and someone as wonderful as the man in his arms—even though it took him so many years, and he had to practically be forced into it in the end.

He remembers his mother’s last moments, right before she was shot, his father already dead on the ground before her, calling out to him, terrified for  _ him, _ and not her own life—and for the first time the dominating emotion when he recalls the image is not overwhelming fury, but deep, deep sadness.

He never allowed himself to mourn properly, because he didn’t think it could make him stronger. He always focused on his anger and his hatred, swore to himself that he would let those emotions, and only those, guide him until he’d reached his goal and fulfilled his destiny of killing Shaw and the other monsters that took his parents’ lives. He had no time and no energy for sorrow and grief, but now they come to him, now he allows himself to think about all the time he lost, all the conversations, and hugs he never received, all his birthdays that were ignored in the orphanage, when he didn’t allow himself to think longingly of the cake his mother would have made him, the song his parents would have sung for him, instead focusing on anger and jealousy at the thought of the Crown Prince sitting in the palace at the same moment, with a large and beautiful cake, and a large stack of presents.

He still misses them, Erik realises. After all these years, even though he’s no longer the boy he once was, he still misses them both so much. His mother’s smile and laugh, the way she hugged him so tightly he’d always try to squirm away, her cooking he never quite appreciated enough, her stories and songs, and the way she seemed to be proud of him whatever he did. His father’s hand on his shoulder, his guidance and explanations of how the universe worked—however inaccurate they may have been—and the times they’d sit together to play chess.

Erik’s heart clenches painfully at the memories, and the intense feeling of loss, so many years suppressed and held in check. There’s nothing that can bring them back. Nothing in the whole universe.

He knew this before, of course he did. He never once kid himself he could have his parents back if he killed Shaw, which is why he never gave a damn about what happened afterwards, his only determination to make Shaw pay in blood for what he’d done.

But is that really the only way it could be? Yes, Shaw needs to pay. No man who has done what he did should be allowed to walk free, and so he has to be punished, justice needs to be served, but where is the blood thirst gone? Why is it suddenly overshadowed by the desire to be the kind of man his mother and father would have wanted him to be? Why does it feel as though Erik would be honouring her memory by seeking love instead of hate?

_ Erik… _

Charles’ telepathic voice is tentative, almost imperceptible, and yet it causes Erik to refocus his gaze on the other man’s face, forcing himself back to reality.

His own emotions are getting reflected back at him from Charles’ eyes—the grief, the sense of loss, and the desperate desire to just love and be loved. Charles’ cheeks are wet, making Erik realise his own tears running down his cheeks for the first time.

_ Did you see all that? _ he asks quietly, using the technique Charles has taught him over the last days. He’s not angry. He knew their minds were intertwined after all.

Charles nods.  _ I’m so sorry.  _ And their connection tells Erik just how earnest Charles is.

It should make Erik want to run away and hide, having another person witness his most vulnerable moment in...probably ever, and so closely at that. It doesn’t. Instead he buries his face in Charles’ neck, and lets out a sob so loud and desperate it reverberates in their room. Charles’ arms are there around him in an instant, holding him tightly, pressing kisses to the top of his head.

And Erik just...lets go.

Charles’ presence is there in his mind, stabilising him, helping him carry the heavy load of emotions bursting out of every corner of his mind that Erik didn’t even know existed. Charles is holding him tightly, both physically and mentally, holding him so he doesn’t get swept away by the flood of pain and regret that takes his breath away and causes his body to shake violently, as sobs and wails force themselves out of his throat. There are always new memories coming to him, of things he lost, moments he’d forgotten about, both good and terrible, of the time before his parents’ death, and of the time afterwards, all jumbled together, rushing past quickly, every single image causing him more sorrow and making his heart squeeze even more painfully.

Strict wardens in the orphanage, some of them determined to shame a young mutant boy for being different, other children shunning him out of fear, his mother laughing at a silly face he pulled, his father tickling him until he gasps for air, several doors being slammed in his face as he asks for an apprenticeship, the sensation of Shaw’s hand on his head as he ruffles his hair, his mother singing him a lullaby…

Erik cries until there are no more tears left in him, until his body lies trembling and weak, Charles’ arms still wrapped tightly around him. Even after he’s stopped crying, his body still shakes slightly, even though the images are becoming blurred again, the pain duller, his limbs so exhausted he can hardly move at all.

There’s his mother’s face again, a soft smile on her lips as she watches him huddled close to the man he loves. If only she could meet Charles, if only that were possible…

Charles hasn’t spoken at all, or talked to him telepathically, and yet there wasn’t a second when Erik didn’t sense his presence both physically and mentally—Erik’s anchor, his life belt, always there to keep him breathing, even as the pain tries to suffocate him. There’s nobody else in the universe who Erik could have shared this with, nobody else who Erik would trust with his emotions and memories like that, but Charles.

“I love you, Erik,” Charles mumbles—the first words he speaks at all. “I’m so proud of you.”

And, strangely, Erik knows at once what Charles means, because Charles—especially Charles—knows how hard it is to be weak and vulnerable, how hard it is to trust another person with your weakness. Charles knows how much this moment means, and, even though Charles never pressured Erik into allowing his feelings to flow, Charles knows—knew before Erik did—that ultimately not suppressing them any longer will make Erik stronger in many ways. 

Even in his physically and mentally exhausted state Erik can already feel it. He is whole again—or as close to being whole as he’ll ever be, something he hasn’t been in a long time—and he knows who he is. He doesn’t have to be afraid of this part of him anymore, because he knows now that it won’t crush him. He’s stronger than the pain, and yet the pain is a part of him, because it comes from a love so deep not many people have had the luck to experience. His parents loved him, and Charles loves him, and Erik will fight for this love until the day he dies.

Even if it means that he won’t get to do what he always thought he must do, at least not the way he thought he would.

“Charles,” Erik says breathlessly, turning his head and gazing into Charles’ deep blue eyes. “I know I wanted to—but...I can’t lose you.”

Charles’ smile is soft, and yet there’s deep sadness in his eyes. “You won’t. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Shaw needs to pay,” Erik croaks.

More pain crosses Charles’ beautiful eyes. “Yes, I know.”

“I don’t need to be the one to do it,” Erik says, his throat tightening.

“What do you mean?” Charles’ voice is barely more than a whisper, and yet there’s hope in it.

“He needs to be punished, but...I don’t need to kill him. It’ll be enough if he gets life in prison. I just want to see justice served.” Oh how it hurts to say these words, and yet… “All I want is to be with you,” Erik adds quietly.

Even though the idea of letting Shaw live is painful, Erik has never been more certain of anything else before in his life.

Charles’ smile makes up for the pain, for all the pain Erik felt in the last hours. “We’ll make sure he pays. I’ll do everything I can...that’s a promise.”

How could Erik not believe him?

 

With only about a week to go until the meeting with the other rebel groups, Moira calls a meeting in one of the larger halls of the ship, addressing her fellows’ concerns and questions, and making sure everyone is on board with their plan, and knows what to expect.

“The plan is to reach Earth in time for Marko’s annual address. Everyone all over the Empire will be watching on screens put up in all places. If we can find a way to disrupt the event and get Charles on camera, people everywhere will know that he’s still alive—and I think that will give us a great advantage.”

“How do you plan to get in there? Security will be tight,” a voice from the back yells.

“We aren’t entirely sure yet,” Moira admits. “But since it will be a public event, and a limited number of citizens will be allowed in, I think we have a chance. Plus, one of us is a telepath,” she adds with a crooked smile.

“What about those telepathy-proof helmets though?” Kitty asks from the front row.

“There aren’t that many of them,” Charles explains. “But we should expect at least a few of the guards to wear them nevertheless.”

“So how will you trick the guards?”

“Some kind of disguise will hopefully be enough,” Moira says. “But we’re still working on that.”

“They won’t let any mutants in,” Sean interjects. “They never do.”

“Well, not all of us are mutants—and Charles isn’t marked,” Moira explains. “Since we can’t know for sure whether the guards will wear helmets, we need to expect the worst. This means only those of us who aren’t marked will be able to get in—the rest will have to wait outside as backup.”

Erik’s heart skips a beat at those words, while his mind starts whirling in alarm. He stares at Charles, trying to catch the telepath’s eye, desperately seeking confirmation that he, Erik, won’t be left outside the gates while Charles proceeds to poke the snake that is Marko and Shaw in the eye, but Charles either doesn’t notice, or he ignores him, his eyes fixed on the crowd. 

Erik’s mind screaming in panic at the thought of Charles in danger and him too far away to save him, Erik misses the next few things that are said, and only catches himself just in time to hear Moira speak again. 

“All this is obviously hypothetical so far, since we need to speak to the other rebel groups first. There’s no use putting anyone in danger if we haven’t got a large enough army behind us.” There’s murmuring at that, but Moira continues, unperturbed. “Obviously the number of our fighters will never get close to the size of Marko’s army—but our hope is that, once Charles is back in the picture, a large number of soldiers will refuse to fight for Marko anymore. They swore loyalty to the Empire after all—and once Charles is back, Marko has no right to be Emperor anymore. We hope that some of them will choose to fight for the rightful heir to the throne instead—but obviously we can’t know that for sure.”

 

It’s rather silent as everyone pours out of the hall a while later, most people apparently lost in thought, some looking worried, others animated, as they shuffle past Erik.

Erik knows exactly how they feel. He himself is torn between excitement at the prospect of finally being able to change something, and agitation at the strong possibility that something might go terribly wrong. And a weird but strong sense of betrayal.

Why didn’t Charles seem at all surprised by Moira’s announcement that Erik and all other marked mutants wouldn’t be coming with him? Did he and Moira agree to that in private, without consulting Erik? When though? Erik and Charles have hardly been separated at all since they entered the Siren—when did Charles find the time to elaborately discuss this with Moira without Erik around? Or do they have secret mental discussions, just like Charles and Erik do? Just the idea of that hurts more than Erik could possibly admit to anyone.

He thought they didn’t have secrets anymore—especially now that Erik couldn’t hide anything even if he wanted.

_ Why didn’t you tell me? _ Erik sends at Charles, not bothering to tone his mental voice down.

Charles flinches in the middle of his conversation with Kitty and throws Erik a surprised and rather pained glance, before excusing himself, and wheeling over to where Erik is still standing, leaning against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing his temple and grimacing.

Erik can’t help feeling bad for having mentally shouted at Charles, especially since Charles told him only a few hours earlier how exhausting group events are for him—the room alight with so many differing opinions and emotions it’s hard for Charles to stay focused on his own thoughts.

Perhaps Charles really wasn’t ignoring him earlier.

Nevertheless, the sour taste in Erik’s mouth at the new information hasn’t quite gone away—and the question of why in the damned universe Charles kept it from him.

Too aware of several people still left in the room, Erik just nods down the corridor.  _ Talk somewhere private? _

Of course, by the time they get to their cabin, Charles has figured out what is bothering Erik, and closes the door behind them both with a rather contrite expression.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you,” he says at once. “Moira came up with the idea of interrupting Kurt’s annual address, and—well, I pointed out they wouldn’t let any mutants in, but told her I’d still do it.”

“When did you discuss this?” Erik can’t help the huffy tone of his voice, even though he hates that it makes him sound like a jealous teenager.

Charles bites his lip, looking guilty. “The day that we discussed it for the first time. I...told her mentally, so you wouldn’t hear.”

“You shut me out on purpose? I thought you trusted me!”

“I do!” Charles exclaims. “I just...I know how worried you are, and I...I didn’t want to worry you any more. I knew you wouldn’t like the idea—I don’t either. But I still think it’s the best chance we have.”

_ You said you’re not going anywhere, and there you are planning to leave me behind. And you wouldn’t even tell me. _ Erik can’t bring himself to say the words out loud, but he can tell Charles heard him by the way his gaze turns desperate.

_ I don’t want to. _ Charles’ telepathic voice is just as desperate and distraught as his real one.  _ I want you by my side, but this is important, Erik, you know it is. I’m the only chance these people have, and I have to do this. For them, but also for us. For you. Shaw will never get punished if we don’t take this chance, Erik. _

Erik draws his eyes away from Charles’ with some difficulty. He’s half-angry Charles brought Shaw into this, the intention behind it quite clear. Charles knows how much Shaw’s punishment means to Erik, and now he tries to use it to make him agree to this. But perhaps Charles hasn’t understood just how much Erik’s priorities have shifted, how differently he feels now.

“Your life means more to me than Shaw’s punishment,” Erik murmurs, his eyes fixed on a crease in his bedsheet. “Retribution is nothing to me if I lose you along the way.”

It’s silent in the room for a while, and it’s silent in Erik’s mind too, Charles having obviously withdrawn, perhaps out of respect, perhaps out of fear—Erik doesn’t know. He keeps staring at the sheet on his bed, unable to meet Charles’ eyes and see determination there, or worry, or anger.

“This is not just about me and you,” Charles whispers quietly at some point. “I wish it was. If we could just stay here, like this, and be together for all eternity, I’d be happier than I can even imagine—but I can’t do that. So many people are suffering, Erik, because I was too much of a coward and too passive for far too long. Now I have a chance to put things right again—and I have to take it. Don’t you understand?” 

There’s pleading in his voice, and so much guilt and despair, which is perhaps what finally makes Erik look at him again, taking in the tears in Charles’ eyes, the tense muscles in his jaw.

Of course Erik understands. How could he not. The desire to finally do something and make a change, to _ put things right again  _ was what drove him for more than half his life after all. And this is even more than Erik’s thirst for revenge. Charles has a chance of putting an end to millions of people’s suffering and misery. How could he turn that opportunity down? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself—and Erik wouldn’t be able to live with himself either, if he stopped Charles.

“Is there no other way?” Erik whispers. “No way we could stick together?”

“I don’t know,” Charles croaks. “Nothing is set in stone—we haven’t even met with the other rebels yet—but it makes sense, don’t you think? It seems like the best possible plan.”

Erik doesn’t say anything for a moment. He knows Charles is right, but he can’t bring himself to agree out loud, or even put it in mental words. The idea still terrifies him, but however much he wracks his brains, he can’t think of another solution.

“What if the guards don’t wear helmets?” Erik asks rather desperately.

Charles’ smile is understanding, but afflicted. “They will. Kurt isn’t going to risk any telepaths getting close to him. He’s absolutely terrified of telepaths.”

Erik sinks down on his bed, covering his face with his hands. He hates this. Oh god, how much he hates this...He can’t bear thinking about having to watch Charles slip away from him, right into the snake pit, where Erik won’t be able to follow. The thought alone makes Erik’s chest constrict so tightly he can hardly breathe.

Erik feels rather than hears Charles’ wheelchair approaching, and he stretches out a hand for Charles to hold, before Charles can do anything else. They hold hands in silence for a moment, both lost in thought, or—in Erik’s case—trying hard not to think at all.

“Happy birthday, Erik,” Charles mumbles after a moment.

“What?” Almost in spite of himself, Erik’s head snaps up and he stares at Charles, confused.

“Well…” Charles chuckles sadly. “I don’t really know what date it is where we are right now, but I’ve still got my watch set on Earth time and there...yeah. Happy twenty-fifth.”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now. We’re twenty-five...I think.”

Erik releases a long breath. “So you’re old enough to be Emperor now.”

Charles’ smile looks painful. “Yes, I guess I am.”

They look at each other for a long moment.

“Happy birthday, Charles,” Erik mutters then, stroking Charles’ hand softly with his thumb.

So this is it. It all starts here.


	18. 2.3 Charles

“You believe him, Grey?” Ororo’s eyes are narrowed as she scrutinises Charles from head to toe.

The hairs on the back of Charles’ neck stand on end under her gaze, but he doesn’t flinch or avert his eyes. He’s almost there, and he knows it. He’s almost got her convinced. And once she’s on his side, all of them will be.

“Yes, he’s telling the truth,” Jean says calmly from her chair a little further down the room. “Stop murdering him with your eyes, Storm.”

The woman with the white mohawk takes a step back, and Charles can sense Erik relaxing slightly next to him, though not entirely. He’s been all tense for the last few hours of interrogations.

Moira sighs in exasperation. “Is this it then? Can we  _ please _ discuss tactics now?”

It takes a while until Ororo has taken her seat again, her eyes never leaving Charles’ face as she does so. “I think so,” she growls as she’s finally sunk down on it. “I believe Grey if she says he’s not lying. But I swear by my mother’s beating heart, if you double-cross us, I won’t rest until I’ve put you in your grave, Xavier.”

“I know,” Charles says quickly. “I swear that I won’t.”

Her jaw set, Ororo turns to look at Jean, who sighs, before she glances at Charles with an apologetic look on her face.

_ Do you mind? _

Her presence brushes against his mind, and he lets her in at once, not for the first time within the last hours. This time, however, it only takes her a moment to scan his mind, and then she’s gone again.

“Completely honest,” she says, raising her eyebrows at Ororo. “Honestly, you can trust him. There’s no treachery on his mind. None. He’s one of the good ones.”

“Right,” says Moira, her tone positively annoyed now. “Anybody else got reservations?”

She stares around the room, scrutinising every face in turn. Ororo, who still looks grim, but nevertheless shakes her head, Anna Marie, who smiles slightly, Clarice a.k.a. Blink, who looks tired, but not hostile anymore, and Jean, who actually winks at Charles.

_ That’s it, _ she sends.  _ We’ve done it. They’re all on board. _

_ You’ve done it,  _ Charles corrects her.  _ Ororo and Clarice would never have believed me if it weren’t for you. _

_ Well, telepathy can be useful sometimes. Even if it’s a complete pain a lot of the time. _

Charles can’t say he disagrees. His telepathy has brought him many sleepless nights, and a lot of sorrow. His childhood would definitely have been easier without it, and yet he’s never felt less safe than during the time he didn’t have it, not to mention that he’s fully aware he and Erik would be dead now if he hadn’t gotten it back in time.

Charles hardly manages to keep his eyes open, after six hours of meeting with the four Captains of the other rebel ships. Once again he had to recount his story, as well as older memories, including the death of his parents and his own crash in a shuttle several years ago —none of which are pleasant subjects.

If he hadn’t had Erik by his side all the while, Charles isn’t sure he could have done it, but Erik’s mind was always there, a safe haven to quickly dive into and curl himself up in, before confronting the darker parts of his own memory system again. He still has trouble believing his luck sometimes, believing that Erik loves him and won’t leave him, even though Erik has told him so several times. For some reason it still doesn’t feel real that it might really be happening to  _ him _ of all people, that someone actually loves  _ him. _

In the end, even though it took so long, the meeting went better than Charles or Erik expected. Charles knew convincing the Captains would be a tough task—the mere thought of it has kept him awake for the last three days—but Jean definitely saved him. He would never have been able to convince any of them if it hadn’t been for the fact that they trust Jean’s judgement.

Moira rubs her eyes. “Very well. As much as I’d like to discuss the plan Charles, Erik, and I have come up with now, I think we all need a break. Get some rest, talk to your fellows, think about it some more, and then I guess it’s best if we meet again tomorrow. Agreed?”

They all nod and murmur, getting up from their chairs and leaving the room, all glad to get the chance to sleep and think about what has happened, Charles, Erik, and Moira the only ones left behind.

Moira sighs, as soon as the door has slid shut behind Anna Marie. “Well done, Charles. I know that was tough for you, but...you did great.”

Charles smiles weakly. His mind is a mess right now, his brain overexerted from lack of sleep, and the determination to keep his telepathy in check, so as not to alienate the other Captains. He feels more vulnerable than he’s done in a long time, after allowing another telepath to enter his mind for the first time in his life, and having her examine all those thoughts and memories he’s hardly talked about to anyone yet, except maybe Erik. Nevertheless he’s relieved that it’s over and that the first step has been taken. Now it’s on to more discussions, to coming up with a plan as fail-safe as it can be, before they plunge into danger again.

“There’s something else though,” Moira says after a moment, her face suddenly thoughtful. “I’m not sure if this is the right time, but...well. I’ve been thinking, and all those other rebels....You told me about the village you found, and about the dead bodies nearby, but I didn’t make the connection somehow. It was hard to work out which planet you’d been trapped on, after you’d been in space for almost three days and flying around aimlessly, but now I think it might have been Genosha.”

“Genosha?” Charles asks. 

The name doesn’t sound familiar in the slightest, but Erik’s head snaps up, his mind alert, as he stares at Moira with wide eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Well, no.” She shakes her head. “But the distance fits, and the way you described the planet, and then there’s—well…”

“The massacre of Genosha,” Erik mutters.

“Yes, exactly,” Moira agrees with a grimace.

Charles is entirely lost. “What massacre?”

Moira and Erik exchange a look, before Moira sighs and begins to explain. 

“I don’t know anything for sure. Those are all just tales going around, but I do know for a fact that very soon after Marko became Emperor there was a large number of people—mainly mutants—who organised and fled into space—the first rebels if you will. I’ve been told that they discovered a small planet that wasn’t yet colonised and named it Genosha. Even though they had a few ships to get around on, they didn’t want their children to live on them permanently, and so they settled on Genosha, building several of these villages all over the planet—mainly for the pregnant women and children, as well as injured, ill, or elderly people, and everyone else they wanted to keep out of a fight for whatever reason. Apparently they lived there, undetected, for two or three years, before Marko got wind of them, and sent his men to have them all killed—a few hundred people, including all the children. That must have been about five years ago. There were other attacks on settlements since, but that was the largest and most brutal one. The one with the most casualties.”

It’s silent for a moment, as the horror of what he just heard takes over Charles’ mind, making his chest squeeze painfully, and his throat tighten.

“Kurt did that?” he croaks after a moment. Why do these things still shock him? He should know by now that Kurt is capable of anything. Erik is right. The man is a monster.

“That’s what I’ve been told,” Moira replies gently.

Charles’ eyes travel over to Erik, who’s sitting next to him, staring at the table, his jaw set, his mind whirling with anger, hatred, and pain.  _ How did you know? _

Erik looks at him, and Charles can see all the emotions he senses coming from Erik’s mind reflected back at him from the depth of his eyes.  _ I didn’t. I just heard a rumour back on Earth, but nobody really knew any details. But...I never doubted it was true. I had an inkling back when we found the bodies but...I wasn’t sure. _

Charles can’t tear his eyes away from Erik’s as he remembers the day that they found the dead bodies. How much it affected Erik, with everything he experienced himself as a boy, how much the story must now be hurting him, forcing him to relive his most painful moment. Charles aches to take Erik’s hand, better yet to embrace him and hold on to him tightly, to provide some sort of comfort, but he doesn’t think it would be welcome with Moira in the room, and so he just sends a wave of mental warmth and comfort, along with a quiet,  _ I’m so sorry, Erik. _

_ It’s not your fault, _ Erik responds, and even though Charles can tell that Erik really means those words, he can’t quite help feeling that they’re not true.

Five years ago, at the time of the massacre, Charles was twenty years old. He was no child, and yet he was so caught up in his own misery that he didn’t even realise Kurt sent out the order to have all these people killed, have  _ children _ killed, and pregnant women, as well as ill and elderly people. It all happened while Charles lived in the palace —possibly next door to the room where they decided on these atrocities—and if only he’d shown a little more interest he could have prevented it.

Whatever he does now to  _ put things right again, _ there are things he can’t put right. Not anymore. And they’re at least partly his fault.

 

It should have been the first night of proper sleep after all the agitation of the previous ones, now that he knows the other Captains will support him, and yet Charles can’t shake the horror of what Moira told him earlier, doesn’t dare close his eyes, because he knows the cruelness of the images will only intensify if he does. And it’s not just that. Those last nights the question of whether or not he’d succeed in convincing the other rebels was the one dominating though on his mind, but now that that part is done, his other fears come rushing back, threatening to crush him again.

He’s going to have to face Kurt, speak up and reveal himself to all the people on Earth, and it’s only too likely that none of them—not him, or Erik, or any of their fellows—will make it out alive. If they do decide to do it on the day of Kurt’s annual address, they only have little more than a month left. Thirty-three days until he’ll be leading thousands of brave people to their deaths, thirty-three days until him and Erik will in all probability be torn apart forever, when Kurt will finally finish what he’s tried to achieve so many times, and get rid of Charles for good.

“Charles, are you alright?” Erik whispers into his hair. 

There huddled close together on one bed, like every night, the other bed lying untouched since the day that they arrived.

There are a thousand things weighing on Charles’ heart and mind, and yet he’s unable to put any of them into words.

“Just kiss me, please” he mutters desperately, and Erik does just that without another question, leaning over Charles and covering his lips with his own, allowing Charles to push away the crushing responsibility and terror for a while, as he loses himself in his lover’s lips and mind.

 

Even though Charles is even more exhausted the next day, not having slept at all again, he finds the situation in the meeting room a lot more bearable than the day before. The minds around him no longer scream their mistrust at him for one, and Ororo even almost-smiles at him, which throws him off track for a moment, before he catches sight of Jean, who’s hardly suppressing a grin.

_ I had a little heart-to-heart with her, _ she explains.  _ And I think it changed her opinion of you. Plus, most of her people are determined to support you, so she’s going with the flow. She’s a good Captain, _ Jean adds.  _ But she’s been through even more shit than most of us, being not only a mutant but a woman of colour. It’s toughened her up. _

_ I don’t blame her, _ Charles replies, even though he’s well aware he’s not even close to comprehending what being a female mutant of colour must mean.  _ Thank you, Jean. I owe you. Again. _

Moira doesn’t beat around the bush, but expounds exactly what the three of them discussed all those last days and weeks, retelling the stories of riots all over Earth, of murmurings in the population, about mistrust and doubt about the real story behind Charles’ ostensible death, trying to make them see how they can use all this to their advantage. This time, like the day before, the other Captains listen in rapt attention, but nevertheless the atmosphere couldn’t be more different. It already feels like they’re all part of a team, and not several opposing teams spying on each other, and what a difference it makes.

“It’s only a month until the annual address,” Anna Marie interjects at some point. “And it will take us about three days to get to Earth. Not to mention that we can’t all land at once—perhaps not any of us. They’ll see us.”

Moira nods. “I know. That’s where Blink comes in.” She smiles at Clarice. “We’re thrilled to have you on board. How many people can you transport through one portal at once? And how far can you go?”

Clarice shrugs. “There are no limits on range, and theoretically I can transport as many as I want, as long as I keep the portal open—but I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. The government will notice thousands of people appearing out of nowhere—and a glowing portal—even if it’s in some secluded place.”

“Exactly our thoughts,” Moira smiles at her. “That’s why we thought about dividing us into several small groups and dropping them off all over the area around the Capital. We think that’s safest.” When there are no objections, she continues, “We don’t want to cause an uproar before we have to, so we thought it would be best if anyone with distinct physical mutations stays hidden in the woods close by, waiting for a signal to come in, while everyone else disperses over the several city squares where the speech will be transmitted to screens, both waiting for their moment to intervene and getting as many civilians as possible to safety. Charles and I will be the only ones going into the actual arena.”

They’ve discussed this several times, and yet Charles senses Erik tensing next to him at her words. He surreptitiously takes the other man’s hand under the table. There’s no turning back now.

“Won’t they recognise him?” Ororo asks with a frown. “They all know what he looks like—and you can’t make him unrecognisable if you want people to believe it really is him once the cameras are on him.”

Moira sighs. “Yes, I know. That’s the huge question mark still left in the plan. And the same holds true for me—to my knowledge they don’t know what I look like, but what if our sources are wrong? We need some kind of rock-solid disguise that we can easily take off again—and I’m not sure yet what that could be.”

Before she says anything, Charles senses a spark of excitement from Jean, drawing his eyes in her direction.

“It’s possible I know a solution to the problem,” she says cautiously. “One of my newest recruits—but she’s only sixteen, and I’m not sure if she’s up to it.”

All the eyes in the room are on her, the intrigue coming from all their minds so palpable it overshadows all other emotions.

“Her name is Rose,” Jean continues. “She can change other people’s appearances at will—and have them switch back to normal within less than a second. But she’s a marked mutant, so she won’t be able to get into the arena, and I don’t know anything about her range. Plus, I don’t really want her in the thick of the fight,” she adds grimly.

“Talk to her,” Moira says at once. “That sounds like exactly what we need. Perhaps we can find a way to get her out of the city before hell breaks loose.”

“If she can change other people’s appearance, can she make a mark disappear?” Erik interjects tentatively. It’s the first time he speaks at all, and Charles can sense a spark of hope coming from his mind at the sudden possibility of not having to part from Charles after all—something Jean obviously senses as well, because she smiles rather sadly at him.

“I’m pretty sure she can’t. The marks are burnt tissue—an injury if you will. She can’t make injuries or scars disappear as far as I know.”

Erik slumps in his chair. The disappointment radiating off of him is so strong, Charles needs to put up his defenses and shut Erik’s mind out.

 

The meeting goes well, really well. They work productively together, shedding light on problems himself, Moira, and Erik didn’t see, and finding solutions to them rather quickly. When they wrap up their session about two hours later, Charles’ heart feels lighter in a way, because it now seems as though they stand a real chance—even though there are still tons of things that might go wrong.

They all start a large fire in the huge square in between the five ships that night, everyone gathering around, talking, and roasting bread on sticks, a few children running in between everyone’s legs, chasing each other, and laughing. It was Moira’s idea to form bonds between the different groups, allow people to talk to anyone outside of their ship, and Charles agrees that it’s a great one, especially as he sees people smiling and laughing with each other despite their looming mission—even if he’s almost too tired to enjoy it.

“Charles?” Erik asks after they’ve watched the people around the fire for a while.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking. About the plan. What if Blink transported us directly into the arena? This way I could—”

Charles can’t suppress a sigh. He’s not annoyed with Erik. He understands his deep wish to not be parted from Charles—Charles feels the same way. If there was a way for Erik to accompany him, he’d take it. He’d feel much safer sensing Erik close-by, and the idea of having a few more moments with the man he loves, or even an hour, before everything goes to shit, makes his heart ache in longing. But he’s also realistic, and he knows that Erik, too, deep down, knows it won’t work. “People would notice the portal, and it would cause an uproar. We can’t risk that.”

They fall silent again, both their eyes fixed on the crackling fire. Charles can sense Erik’s disappointment and frustration, though he knows Erik never really believed it was a real chance.

Kitty turns up at some point, taking Erik’s hand and pulling him up from the rock he’s sitting on, exclaiming that he has to meet this fascinating mutant with powers similar to his, and he agrees to follow her after Charles has given him an encouraging mental nudge and a smile, allowing her to pull him across the square and out of sight.

A lot of people walk up to Charles to talk to him, and he does his best to listen, answer their questions, and show interest in what they have to say, but he finds it hard to focus with so many people around, so many emotions whirling through the air, and the fact that his brain is just too fucking tired.

_ Holding up okay? _

It’s definitely Jean’s mental voice, but Charles doesn’t manage to spot her at once, among all the other people.

_ Only just,  _ he admits. _ I’m terribly exhausted. _

_ I can tell. _

She appears almost out of nowhere, from in between the mass of people standing around the fire, and takes a seat on the rock Erik left only a few minutes ago.

_ You should try and get some sleep, _ she says after a moment.

Charles smiles weakly.  _ I know, but I can’t. _

Jean looks at him.  _ Me neither. I barely sleep two hours each night. Too many minds, too much pain and anguish. _

For the first time Charles sees a flicker of the young girl that she is, and the heavy burden she carries, not just the strong leader that everyone else sees and that she portrays so well. He prods her mind softly, and she lets him in.

_ You’re only nineteen? _ he asks, surprised.

She grimaces.  _ Yes, don’t tell anyone. _

She doesn’t really mean it. Her age is no secret, but nevertheless it surprises him.  _ How long have you been Captain of the Athena? _

_ Two years. _

_ They made you Captain at seventeen? _

She smiles crookedly.  _ Nobody really wanted to do it. _

Charles can tell that it’s not the whole story, but he doesn’t press on.  _ Your power is extraordinary. I always thought I was a powerful telepath, but you… _

She laughs a little embarrassedly. _ I don’t know what you mean. You have so much control, I envy you. I can never really turn it off. It used to be even worse _ _ —these days I can mostly use it to my advantage _ _ , but, well….sometimes it still feels as though it controls me more than I control it. _

Charles considers her words for a moment. He knows just how she feels. It’s exactly how he felt for large parts of his teens. What helped him during those days?

_ You will control it, _ he says after a moment.  _ Sometimes it might seem impossible, and even in the future, sometimes, if you’re tired and exhausted, it’ll be harder again, but you’ll get better all the time. Just make sure you have people around you whom you can trust. At your age I wasn’t half the mutant or the leader that you are today, but in the end I still got better at controlling it. You’ll find your way. I’m sure of it. You’re going to be much more powerful than I am one day. _

_ Thank you, that...really means a lot. _ Jean smiles tentatively.  _ You know, I could have used someone like you to encourage me when I was younger. Like a teacher, someone competent, who really...cared. I wouldn’t have been half as afraid of myself. _

She watches him with a curious smile for a moment, before excusing herself and walking away to talk to Moira.

 

Moira rounds them all up the next day, explaining to the group of a few thousand rebels what they’re about to do, and how they need everyone to be as prepared as possible —both the few human fighters with their weapons, and the mutants with their powers.

Charles is taken rather by surprise when she turns to him, after a moment, with a smile on her lips. “I think we need an instructor to help our younger mutants, who are old enough to fight, bring out the best in them—someone who truly understands them, and understand what’s stopping them from tapping their full potential.”

Charles’ heart skips a beat.  _ Me? _ He asks her, incredulous.

She chuckles. “You.”

He looks around the room, taking in everyone’s faces, most regarding him with interest, some smiling, some looking doubtful, then he spots Erik, not far from him, wearing a soft smile.  _ I think this sounds perfect for you. You really understand people. You’ll do great. _

Charles is dumbstruck, a rush of nervousness at everyone’s attention being focused on him, until a soft nudge in his mind makes him look at Jean, who’s also smiling.  _ I’m afraid this was my idea, but...remember what I said last night? You could really make a change, I think. _

How could he turn them down?

 

They start training the next day, and Charles is taken aback by how natural his new position comes to him. It takes the young mutants —his students—a moment or two to trust him, some even a whole day, but soon they’re all out in the stony desert of Galba, running, flying, conjuring up sparks, shapeshifting, or moving objects around, with Charles wheeling around them, encouraging them, clapping them on their shoulders, and Erik watching from nearby, a constant smile on his lips.

Charles loves it, more than he’s ever loved anything else he’s done while he grew up in the palace. The young mutants are fascinating, their powers mesmerising, and the best thing is that Jean is right—he really can make a change, for them, but also for everyone else. Even though they haven’t taken the next step yet, it already seems as though they’re working towards a new world—one in which mutants have their place alongside humans, because they’re able to control their powers, use them in a valuable way, and not in one that scares both themselves and everyone around them.

Charles meets several young mutants who are afraid of their powers, just like he himself used to be at their age. Without diving into their minds too deeply, he manages to detect what’s holding them back, and uses his power to guide them in their effort to overcome that obstacle. Every moment that he sees one of his students surpass themselves and achieve goals that seemed too ambitious only a few days earlier, his heart swells in a way that he’s never experienced before, strengthening his determination to do everything he can to build a new future with them.

Jean accompanies  Rose to her first lesson, introducing them to each other. Rose, quite a bit younger than all the other mutants Charles works with, turns out to be a delightful girl — nervous, but nevertheless proud to be of some use, and determined to do her very best. Regardless Charles can’t help seeing how  _ young _ she is, way too young to carry so much responsibility, way too young to be in the middle of a battle for life and death. Even the first time that he heard about such a young girl being involved, Charles didn’t like the idea, and now, seeing her in person and feeling her nervousness, the juvenileness of her mind, he likes it even less, though when he confronts both Moira and Jean, they only look at him helplessly.

They don’t have any other options, they all know it, but nevertheless Charles can’t help his feeling that involving such a young mutant would not only be careless, but wrong. However, when he takes Rose aside, and speaks honestly to her about his concerns, she interrupts him at once.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she says with a small and tentative smile. “But my mind is made up. I’m going to do this. For all of us. You’re not going to convince me to change my mind.”

He respects her choice —she’s not a child anymore after all, even though she’s not quite an adult either—but he can’t help feeling bad about it, and he silently swears to himself that he’ll do anything in his power to protect her from harm.

Rose’s mutation is fascinating. She touches another person’s face — which she demonstrates on Charles, who can’t help feeling somewhat nervous about it at first, but manages not to let it show —and changes the colour of their hair, eyes or skin, or the shape of some of their features. Charles ends up with a bald head, and skin slightly hanging off of his face—an old man.

Erik stares at him with something between amusement and weariness. “You can reverse this, can’t you?” he asks Rose.

_ What, don’t you like me looking like this?  _ Charles teases him.

Erik barely suppresses a smile.  _ I always like you, but I prefer you looking like yourself. _

“Yes, no problem,” she smiles. “I have to touch the person to change their appearance, but I can reverse it from about a mile away.”

It almost seems too good to be true.

 

Where Charles was hopeless and dejected only days before he met the other rebels, he’s now positively bursting with energy and motivation. He’s still aware that there’s a great chance they will fail, and all pay with their lives, but for the first time in his life he manages to stay positive, imagining what life could be like after they’ve defeated Kurt and have established democracy in the Empire, rather than thinking about all the things that might go wrong.

“I want to build a school,” he says to Erik, as they’re lying in bed next to one another one night, both still naked and covered in sweat after an hour of intense touches and kisses. “A school for young mutants, to help them truly live up to their potential, and grow up loving themselves and what they can do.”

Erik smiles softly. “That sounds perfect.”

“Would you be on my side?”

There’s a hopeful glimmer in Erik’s eyes, and a flicker of hope and happiness radiating from his mind. “I’d like nothing more.”

Of course those are only dreams, but what’s wrong with dreaming when you’re living in a moment of uncertainty, where anything seems possible, from the erasure of mutants from the universe to a new and just world, or even galaxy? It’s better to dream than despair, when both outcomes are equally likely. After all, if one can’t dream, what is there to fight for?

 

The four weeks of training go by faster than any other time in Charles’ life, and by the end of them, by the evening before Clarice will set up numerous portals to transport them to different locations around the Capital, Charles has made more friends, grown fond of more people than he thought his heart would be capable of.

It’s not until Charles and Erik lie in bed again, for the very last time, that what they’re about to do, all the risks and possibilities involved truly hit him. The extent of their plan is unbelievable, so ambitious, so courageous, and yet...so naive? In the end it comes down to the Empire’s soldiers’ morals and loyalty, because they won’t be able to defeat Kurt’s army.

How much blood will be shed, whatever the outcome? How many innocent people will lose their lives? And all for a...greater good? Who are they to decide on such big things?

Charles also becomes painfully aware of the fact that due to his tight training schedule, he spent far too little time with Erik over the last weeks. True, they were almost always together, but there were so many other people around, the evenings, when they were already exhausted and mostly desperate for sleep, the only times when it was just the two of them, and now...this might well be the last night they can truly spend together. They might not ever see each other again after this.

And there are so many things they haven’t tried, so much Charles was eager to share, but too nervous about it to suggest it yet. But now is not the time to be nervous.

“Let’s not sleep yet,” Charles whispers as Erik climbs into bed next to him.

Erik props himself up on his elbow. “I thought the same thing. Charles, I can’t—”

It’s obvious that he wants to talk about the moment they’ll be separated, about Charles going into the arena without him, but Charles can’t deal with that, not right now, not when they’ve discussed it so many times already, and it's already decided, not while they could do other things they might never be able to do after this night.

“I want you to fuck me, Erik,” Charles interrupts him.

Erik falls silent at once, staring at him in astonishment, though Charles can also sense his desire growing at the words. “Are you sure? What if I hurt you? What if I...do some damage because you won’t be able to tell?”

Charles nods. “I am. You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t. Please. I need this.”

Erik swallows. His arousal at the mere thought is palpable without diving too deep into his mind. And yet there’s still something that’s holding him back. “But will you even feel it? I want this to be good for you too, and not just—”

“It will be. God, Erik, this is you. Of course it will be good for me. I’ll be sharing your thoughts and sensations, so if it’s good for you, it’s good for me. Plus…” Why does he have to blush now? “I thought about this. I can sense when my bladder is full, so I thought...perhaps I will be able to feel it after all. Or something at least.”

And he does feel it. Laying on his back, a pillow under his bottom, Charles gasps loudly, both from surprise and arousal, as Erik’s fingers finally brush over his prostate, sending sparks up his spine that he hardly dared believe would find their way.

“Charles…” Erik breathes out, his eyes, fixed on Charles’ face, dark with lust. “Charles, this is…”

“Keep going,” is all that Charles manages to moan. “Please…”

The sensation is there, perhaps fainter than it used to be—it’s tough to decide when the last time he experienced it was so many years ago—but it’s good, and intense, and delicious, and he needs more, needs Erik close—and then he’s there, slowly guiding his cock into Charles, which Charles at first hardly feels, then more and more as Erik slides inside him. Charles gasps, grabbing Erik’s shoulder tightly.

Why didn’t they try this before? This is good, so fucking good.

He slips into Erik’s mind again, as his lover starts to slowly rock back and forth, to be able to feel what he feels, see what he sees, and shudders in lust, as their nerve endings connect, and the full force of Erik’s lust and pleasure hits him. Every single thrust makes them both moan and quiver, their lips finding each other, breathlessly, deliriously exchanging kisses. It feels good, so damned good, Charles can’t think straight, the double sensation mounting as Erik’s thrusts become more intense, more erratic. Charles grabs Erik’s shoulder even more tightly, as the pleasure climbs to almost unbearable heights, and Erik shouts out, his orgasm pulling Charles over the edge with him.

Before their breathing has calmed down again, Charles mutters, “Sometimes I’m really fucking glad I’m a telepath,” causing Erik to laugh out loud, and cover his face with kisses again.

If only it could be like this forever. If only it weren’t so fucking possible that this is the last time.


	19. 2.4 Erik

Parting from Charles is one of the hardest things Erik ever had to do.

They’ve gone through the portal so early in the morning the sun has only just started to rise, and are now standing on a forest path, right outside the city, the outer houses already half in sight. Charles is staring straight ahead at a bunch of trees — though Erik very much doubts he’s seeing them at all. His hair is shorter again, only cut the day before, and he’s clean shaven and dressed in a neat suit. He almost looks like the young man Erik met in the hallway leading to the engine room on the Magnificence all those weeks ago. Almost, because something in his eyes has changed, which makes him appear a lot older, perhaps wiser.

About twenty rebels are surrounding them, and so Charles only takes Erik’s hand to press a quick kiss to it, obviously too self-conscious about everyone else watching them to do more. They’ve already said their proper goodbyes before they left their room on the Siren, exchanging kisses and a hug so long Erik hoped it might never end, but nevertheless Erik wishes he could just sink down to his knees and throw his arms around Charles, hold him tightly, try to stop him from leaving, even though he knows it has to happen.

_ We can do this, _ Charles sends, and Erik knows that it’s only due to his telepathic ability that he sounds so confident.

For all of their safety, Rose transforms the looks of all those people who might be recognised, including Charles, Erik, and Moira. Since they don’t want to be perceived as a threat she makes them look old — Charles with a bald head, and Erik’s and Moira’s hair all white. Erik has seen Charles bald and old so often during the last weeks, when Rose practised her powers on him, that it barely looks weird anymore, though Charles can’t suppress a tiny smile at the sight of Erik’s face transformed. Erik has never had it done before.

Moira throws them an apologetic glance, her wrinkly forehead in worry lines. “We really need to get going, or we won’t have a chance of getting into the arena.”

Charles just nods, smiling at her, though it looks forced. “Alright then.”  _ I love you, Erik, _ he adds telepathically, his eyes already on the road ahead of him.  _ Whatever happens now...I love you. _

_ I love you too, Charles. Just...take care. Call me if you need me and I’ll tear down the gates. I’m not far away. _

It’s been on Erik’s mind all this time. If he can’t get into the arena, he’ll at least be in the square outside, ready to intervene before anyone else. Nobody will convince him to stay further back than he needs to.

_ Look after Rose, _ Charles says simply, apparently picking up on his thoughts.  _ Keep her close, and make sure she’s safe. Please. _

Charles never liked the idea of taking Rose into the centre of the city, where not much later a battle might be raging. He would have preferred to keep her safe like all the other mutants younger than 18 who stayed behind on Galba, but they had no choice. She has to be as close to Charles as possible to be able to reverse the transformation before the cameras are on him. Charles has talked to Erik about this before, and made sure that Erik and Rose were paired up for the mission. Erik was reluctant then, though he still agreed because it seemed so important to Charles. Thinking about it now, however, his heart starts to race. Charles is asking him to stay out of the battle and stick with Rose instead. Erik agreed to work with Rose, because he respects her, and he wants to put Charles’ mind and heart at ease, but if that means he can’t rush to Charles’ side —

_ Promise me, Erik, _ Charles says quickly as Moira starts walking down the path slowly, clearly expecting him to follow her.  _ Promise you’ll make sure she’s safe. Don’t leave her side. She shouldn’t be here anyway, and if something happens to her— _

_ I promise, _ Erik responds, because he knows Charles won’t leave before he’s done so, and because he can sense the urgency in Charles’ mental voice, even though his heart constricts painfully.  _ I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe. _

Charles gives him one last painful smile before he wheels away in the direction of the city, with Moira by his side.

 

The rest of the rebels leave the forest in pairs for different locations in the city, always with some time in between, so as to not draw any unwanted attention. Their already small group becomes smaller and smaller as they wait.

In the end, after several hours, only Erik and Rose are left. Erik doesn’t need to be a telepath to tell that she’s terrified of what’s going to happen, sitting on a stump, with her arms hugging her body. He should have paid her more attention, perhaps comforted her. This is way too much responsibility for a sixteen-year-old. Charles would probably know what to say to her, because Charles always finds the right words. Charles just gets people, and Erik...he really doesn’t know what to do to make her feel better.

A glance at the watch he got from Moira tells him it’s finally time for them to leave, and so he gestures at Rose to follow him, which she does without a word.

It only takes them a few minutes to reach the outer edges of the city, and from there he follows the instructions Moira gave him to find the arena. They take a hoverbus first, then an old-fashioned tram, before they finally reach the large square, only in recent years christened  _ Kurt-Marko-Square, _ already packed with people staring at the large screens put up all around it, waiting for something to happen, a few familiar faces in between—though Erik acts as though he doesn’t see them, as discussed. 

At the moment only various propaganda short films are playing, telling everyone how lucky they are to have a sovereign as caring and just as Kurt Marko, that all they need to do is support him, and turn in their neighbours, friends, or family members if they say otherwise, because people opposed to the Emperor are a real threat to the continued peace on their home planet.

The sight makes Erik feel sick to his stomach. It hasn’t even been that long since he last left Earth, and yet everything seems to have gotten a million times worse. It looks as though Marko—with Charles finally out of the way—has dropped any shallow pretense of not being a tyrant—perhaps in light of the riots, upset, and doubt in the population at the palace’s story of how Charles allegedly died. Judging by the content of the films being played on the screens all over the city (and the rest of the Empire) Marko is aware that he’s in danger of losing control, and he uses fear as a means of keeping people quiet.

If only Charles manages to trigger this avalanche, they could start a chain reaction far out of Marko’s control.

Charles.

The gates to the arena are already closed, broad-shouldered guards with heavy-looking helmets (so Charles was right about that) and large machine guns positioned in front of them. It’s no surprise. They all knew getting inside wouldn’t be easy, which is why Charles and Moira left so early.

_ Charles? _ Erik asks nervously into the silence, his senses already searching the space within the arena for Charles’ wheelchair, scanning every larger piece of metal, until he finally senses one, as well as the watch of its owner—Charles’ watch. He gives it a light nudge.

With the tens of thousands of minds surrounding them, it won’t be easy for Charles to detect him, but Erik nevertheless has to try.

_ Charles? Can you hear me? _

_ Erik? You’re there! Is Rose alright? _ Charles’ telepathic voice is as strong and loud as if they were in one room together.

_ She’s fine, _ Erik says quickly.  _ She’s right next to me. _

There’s a moment of silence, but Rose begins to smile slightly, as Charles obviously speaks to her.

_ I found her _ , he next tells Erik.  _ Only ten minutes left. _

_ Ten minutes of nauseating propaganda. _

_ It’s horrible, isn’t it?  _ Charles’ disgust is palpable.  _ But not long now. _

Waiting is agony, particularly since Erik is drawn between longing for it to finally happen, for the tension to let up, and never wanting the moment to come, for everything might go to shit if it does.

People in the square not so much cheer, but politely applaud as finally the propaganda images vanish and Kurt Marko appears on the screens, his son and daughter, as well as Shaw standing a few feet behind him.

Erik clenches his fists.

Marko begins to speak in a drawling voice, about apparent achievements and challenges that he mastered like no other man could have done, about plans he has, grand plans, and about how he needs everyone’s help to achieve them.

Erik finds himself hardly listening, his mind instead tuned to Charles’ voice, his wheelchair, and to the moment when Charles will take control over the cameramen and boom operators, forcing them to record him instead of Kurt.

When Rose slips her trembling hand into Erik’s, closing her eyes as though concentrating very hard, Erik knows it’s about to happen. He braces himself, ready to rip apart the whole arena if he must.

_ I love you, Erik. _

The image on the screens blurs as the man carrying it moves away from the podium and into the crowd. Marko’s voice also dies away, instead there’s crackling sounding from the speakers. The people surrounding Erik are turning their heads left and right, obviously confused and nervous.

Some more crackling, and blurriness, then suddenly Charles appears on the screen—young again, blue-eyed, dark-haired, and red-lipped, looking as gorgeous as ever—and Erik hears a collective intake of breath around him. A few people scream.

“Hello, people of the Earth and Empire” Charles says, gazing directly into the camera. 

He looks calm, and strong, and Erik grips Rose’s hand in his more tightly.

A woman next to Erik sobs.

“You were told that I was dead—kidnapped and murdered—but none of it is true,” Charles goes on, more hurried now, as surely some men without helmets—Marko and Shaw—must be trying to get to him quickly. “The government attempted to assassinate me—but they failed. I’m still alive. Kurt Marko has no right to the throne, and—”

People shriek as the sound of shots being fired cuts through the sound systems and the image on the screens disappears.

_ Charles? Charles! _ Erik yells, desperate for a signal that Charles is alright.

_ Erik, get Rose out of the city! _ There’s worry in Charles’ telepathic voice.  _ Everyone else, attack! _ Those last words echo slightly in Erik’s mind, as they usually do, when Charles addresses more than one person.

Hell breaks loose at once. 

From every corner of the square, fighters emerge, either carrying weapons, or revealing their mutations, sparks flying, people lifting into the air, a storm conjured up out of nowhere. The jumbled sound of a thousand different sources keeps growing, loud bangs, gunshots, and crackling filling the air, coming out of the arena and from the places surrounding it.

Without thinking Erik yanks the cast iron gates out of their hinges at every entrance of the arena, allowing his fellows to swarm inside, the guards just standing there, looking around in a panic, obviously unsure what to do. After a moment or two, they start moving, evidently having made their minds up, some of them joining the masses invading the arena, others grabbing their weapons, getting ready to—

“Oh no, you don’t,” Erik growls, twisting the barrels of their guns to make them useless, before knocking them back against the wall with their twisted-up weapons, where they slump down, unconscious.

People around Erik are screaming, trying to get away from the scene, while there are still more fighters, more mutants, coming running, flying or else appearing from every adjacent street or alley, aiming for the arena.

Rose is shaking next to him, but she isn’t running away. Her eyes are wide open in terror, and yet she doesn’t scream or try to flee. She seems paralysed, unable to move a muscle.

Erik’s mind only cares about one thing. Charles. Charles being safe.

_ Charles! _

He aches to follow the other mutants, to rush into the arena and find Charles, protect him, attack Kurt Marko, and yet he knows he can’t leave Rose behind, and he can’t take her with him.

Why did he agree to this? He knew how much it meant to Charles to have him, Erik, taking care of the young girl who shouldn’t have had to come into the city in the first place, and yet he can’t stand not being close to Charles, not being able to see with his eyes that he’s alright, especially in a moment like—

The sound grows deafening, bolts, thunder, crackling, bangs, and gunshots no longer distinguishable, and Charles is in the middle of it. Charles—

_ Erik! _ For the first time there’s real terror in Charles’ voice. _ I don’t know what’s happening. _ His voice is hurried, as though desperately trying to tell Erik something before it’s too late.  _ Shaw is absorbing all of our blows and shots. I don’t—we can’t get to them, and— _

_ Charles? _

The blow comes totally unexpected, blasting both Erik and Rose off of their feet, as concrete, stone, and metal poles fly through the air.

Erik picks himself up again as quickly as possible. His back hurts slightly, and so does one of his legs, but he’s not seriously injured. He throws Rose a quick glance, and sees her, too, sitting up, apparently unharmed.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then the shouts and screams start, and people come scrambling from the ruins of the arena, terror on their dust-covered faces, blood on their clothes and skin, their intention clear: To get as far away from the place as possible.

_ Charles!  _ Erik yells in his head, and also out loud. “Charles!”

There’s no reply, telepathic or verbal. But he must be in there somewhere, trapped in between in the rubble, unable to move his wheelchair.

Without thinking Erik breaks into a run, towards the arena, sidestepping hundreds, perhaps thousands of people trying to flee in the opposite direction.

_ Charles!  _

Still no answer.

Erik stretches out his senses, raiding the area where he sensed Charles’ wheelchair earlier. He’s got to be there somewhere, he has to be—

There! That must be it. It’s lying on its side, one of the wheels broken, but it’s not crushed, so Charles is not—Charles can’t be—There’s nobody in the wheelchair, but there are people lying and standing around it—metal eyelets, necklaces, gold fillings—but none of them is Charles? Where is he? Where is his watch? Why can’t Erik sense him? What’s—?

He’s inside the arena now, looking around, but everything is covered in a thin layer of white dust, including the people who are everywhere, running, climbing, screaming, looking for friends or relatives. It’s hard to make out anything, or anyone—the dust has disguised them well, they all look the same.

“Charles!”

“Erik!”

Erik whips around so fast he almost falls over, but it isn’t Charles who called his name. It’s Moira, young again, her face dirty and bloody. She’s alone.

_ “Where is he?” _ Erik yells, panic rising in his chest.

Moira was with Charles, she was the one who was by his side. If she’s alone, if she’s not with Charles anymore—

“We need to get out!” Moira yells back. “They’re gathering themselves. They’re about to attack again!”

“No! Not without Charles!”

“Erik, don’t be an idiot! We can’t fight them—him. He’s too powerful!” Her voice is hoarse, and there are tears in her eyes. She looks defeated, and terrified.

“But Charles—”

The sound of a million heavy boots not so far away. Gunshots. More screams.

_ “Come on!” _ Moira shrieks, grabbing him by his arm, and pulling him in the direction of the ruined exits.

More people rush past them, sobbing, as he still struggles against her grip.

Charles. He needs to—He’s got to—

Moira slaps him, hard, in the face. It makes him look at her again.

“Where’s Rose?”

Who?

_ “Where’s Rose, Erik?” _

Oh… “Outside, in the square...”

It all comes crashing down in that moment, everything that held him up mentally. Charles isn’t here. If he’s not with Moira...where is he? She wouldn’t leave Charles just like that, Erik knows it, and yet—

Masses of soldiers come pouring into the arena from the large building on the other side, like millions of ants scuttling out of a hole in the ground, as another blast shakes the city. They spread across the arena, every single spot that Erik was aching to raid to find Charles and get him to safety.

It’s over. It’s fucking over. There’s no way Erik can fight them all to find Charles. No fucking way.

Numbly, his helplessness crushing him at the sight of all the soldiers, Erik finally allows Moira to pull him after herself, his mind knowing that it’s no good, that holding them back would only mean their certain death—even though his heart, his longing heart is still pulling him into the opposite direction, to where Charles might still be, trapped in between enemies.

He fucking hates himself.

_ I failed you, Charles...I couldn’t save you, and now I left Rose behind… _

Erik is numb, his body only just functioning, his legs walking automatically in the direction that Moira pulls him, his eyes fixed on the men in dark uniforms swarming the remainders of the arena, all the places that Charles could still be, gunshots being fired, more people screaming.

_ Charles... _

The square outside is almost empty, apart from the rubble and dust, a few motionless bodies on the ground—and a young girl sitting crouched in a corner, trembling.

“Rose!”

She looks up, her eyes widening at the sight of them.

“Come on!”

Somehow they manage to get away before the soldiers get to them. Erik’s legs start to run automatically as they reach the empty roads, even though his mind and heart are still on the ruins they just left, on Charles, who must be somewhere beneath the rubble, either unconscious, or—

Silent tears stream down Erik’s face as his legs keep moving forward.

He failed Charles. He swore to himself that he’d do everything he could to keep him safe, and yet...he couldn’t. And even if the blast didn’t kill Charles, Marko’s men will find him. Shaw’s men…

Erik’s chest constricts so painfully he almost topples over, but his legs just keep on running, even though his brain hardly functions anymore, shut down, so as not to have to deal with the overwhelming pain—at least not for now.

Erik hardly notices as, after what could be hours, or only a minute, Moira suddenly stops, pulling them into a small alley, then starts knocking onto a narrow wooden door. 

“It’s me. Moira! Open up!”

As the door swings open all three of them hurry inside, quickly closing the door again. It’s almost dark inside, no windows illuminating the space, only a few candles put up across the rather large room providing some light.

Rogue’s safehouse, Erik’s numb brain tells him after a moment. The old closed-down factory her parents used to own.

“Did anyone see you?” Jean asks, stepping into the light of the nearest candle.

Moira shakes her head. “Not to my knowledge. There were cameras out there though. Perhaps we should—”

“We’ve taken care of that,” Jean reassures her quickly. “All broken.”

Now that he thinks of it, Erik can sense the burnt wires in the cameras on the streets outside. Someone—some other mutant—has done a good job on them.

“Where’s Charles?” Jean asks, her voice breaking, looking from one of them to the other. She could probably read their mind to find out, but perhaps she’s too agitated, or afraid of what she’ll see.

But Erik needs to know too. Even if it kills him, he needs to know what exactly happened, and if there’s even the slightest chance that Charles might be alright. He turns to look at Moira.

All eyes are on her now.

She puts her hands over her face. “I don’t know for sure,” she whispers. “We were in the arena, and after Charles had started speaking, Marko’s men attacked. Charles called for help, and many of you came. Some soldiers changed sides, as we predicted, but not as many as we’d hoped. Anyway, we started shooting at them, and they shot back, but our shots, they just...didn’t seem to do anything. It was as though the bullets and blasts vanished in mid-air before they could get anywhere close, and then—” She swallows, her hands, still over her face, trembling. “I saw Captain Shaw. He just stood there, his arms outstretched. He seemed to absorb everything we fired at them, no matter what we did. He started to glow weirdly, and then...everything exploded. I was blasted to the side, and I couldn’t find Charles anymore. I tried to find him, but there was absolute chaos—people running everywhere, and dust and rubble, and—I just couldn’t see him at first. Then I spotted his wheelchair a few yards away, and I ran there, but before I could get to the spot I saw them carrying him away. I couldn’t see whether he was just unconscious, or—but I knew...I knew that I couldn’t do anything, not anymore, so I found Erik and Rose and we ran.”

She lowers her hands, her desperate and tearful eyes finding Erik’s in the crowd. “I’m so sorry,” she croaks. “If I’d been quicker, if I’d spotted him sooner, I might have—” Her voice breaks.

Jean puts a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she says soothingly. “None of us could have guessed—Shaw must be mutant. A powerful one.”

Erik can’t speak. He’s far from blaming Moira—if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his own. He could have protected Charles, he knows it, because he’d have been able to find him quicker than anyone else, but he hesitated, he didn’t go into the arena with everyone else, and thus allowed Shaw, Marko and all those other bastards to seize Charles and take him away. Nevertheless Erik finds he can’t bear looking at Moira. She pulled him away when he should have stayed, even if the chance was minimal, even if those men would have killed him. What does it matter if he dies, when the alternative is living without Charles, and in a world where Marko and Shaw do whatever they want?

He should have stayed.

Lost in his dark thoughts, Erik misses most of the following conversation, but he doesn’t really care anymore anyway.

It’s over, isn’t it? Their plan failed. If they really lost Charles, it’s fucking over, so why isn’t Erik trying to get into the palace right now? Why is he here, hidden away, and not putting his life on the line to find Charles instead? Why isn’t he fighting tooth and nail to save Charles?

What the hell is he still doing here?

“Erik, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

His body freezes, just like that, his hand on the doorknob, about to pull the door open. He struggles to move forward, because he desperately needs to go—he’s let too much time pass already. If Charles is still alive Erik needs to find him—but none of his muscles obey his command.

_ Jean! _ he thinks angrily. He fucking hates her in that moment, more than anyone else, even more than Shaw.  _ Let me go! _

“I can’t let you go, Erik,” she responds calmly, and loud enough for everyone to hear. “If you stormed into the palace now, they’d kill you on the spot, and that wouldn’t help anyone.”

_ I’ve got to find him! Let me go! _

“We all want Charles to be safe, Erik,” she continues, and her voice is trembling slightly. “But we need to stop and think. They’re on high alert right now, I can feel it. There’s no way we can get in there at the moment, but it isn’t over, if we just stay calm now, and  _ think.” _

It’s silent for a moment, while Erik keeps fighting his mental shackles. He doesn’t want to listen, doesn’t give a damn about anything they have to say because every second wasted could be the difference between life and death. They could be torturing Charles now, or doing other terrible things to him. Perhaps they’re about to kill him, and Erik is here, unable to move, and just letting it happen…

“Erik,” Moira says gently. “I know this is hard for you. It is for all of us, but we’ve got to stay focused. We all care about Charles, but we can’t sacrifice everything for a rescue mission we know will fail.” 

“Fuck you!” Erik bursts out, his voice at least suddenly no longer blocked. “You left him, and you made me run with you, when we all should have stayed!”

There’s another moment of silence before she replies, her voice sad, but determined. “I’m not going to apologise for doing the right thing, Erik. We couldn’t have helped him, and we’d have died if we hadn’t run. I’m heartbroken that they got Charles, because, believe it or not, I do care about him, but in the end, we have a bigger goal to focus on, and we can’t lose sight of that. I promise you that I’ll do whatever it takes to get Charles out again, if that is at all possible—but right now, we need to gather ourselves and think, as Jean said. In the end this will help Charles much more than us getting ourselves killed right now.”

Erik can’t say what did it, perhaps her talking about a bigger goal, or her general, calm and logical, reasoning, but his resistance slowly deflates, turning into raw desperation. He wants to curl up on the floor and cry, to hide in a dark hole, so as not to have to see, and hear, and  _ feel. _

The idea of a bigger goal, a purpose resonates with him, or rather, a former version of him. That’s what he used to think, that nothing mattered but getting to Shaw, and making him pay. Charles changed that, made him care about other things, but now...Shaw and Marko took Charles. Perhaps he’s already dead, perhaps he isn’t, but if he’s alive he’s definitely at their mercy, and that thought alone is enough to send chills to Erik’s very bones.

Isn’t Moira right, and Jean? Erik won’t be able to save Charles, not on his own, not right now. He knows this, though he was ready to ignore that fact in his terror and longing to find Charles. The rebels are still working out a plan to defeat Marko, and, in extension, Shaw. Isn’t staying with them and working together truly the best chance he has to get Charles back?

Erik feels Jean retreat from his mind, just as he reaches that conclusion, his hand dropping to his side. She can obviously tell that he won’t run anymore, just as he knows it, even though he can’t quite help hating himself for it.

But sometimes he needs to keep his emotions in check, and see the bigger picture. Moira and Jean are right. Even if the mere thought of Charles at Shaw and Marko’s mercy makes his chest constrict, and his fists clench.

If he wants to help Charles, he’ll need to stay as calm as he can.

“Right,” Moira says cautiously, as she watches him slowly turn to face them again. “It’s not over yet. We hadn’t counted on Shaw’s mutation, and it will make everything more difficult, but nevertheless something has gone right.”

“What has?” Erik mutters. It’s hard to see anything positive in the situation. They lost Charles, and they got chased away without achieving anything.

“We got Charles on camera long enough to tell everyone Marko tried to assassinate him, that’s a big deal,” Moira explains, her voice growing stronger with every word. “The video was broadcast live to every screen in the Empire. Billions of people saw it, and they now know for sure what happened. Before all this there were already rumours about Marko’s involvement in Charles’ death, and those already caused riots here and there. Now...I don’t think Marko will have great support within the population anymore—and perhaps within his own staff and army. It weakened him greatly, don’t you see?”

“They’ll come up with something to turn this around again,” Erik says quietly. Without a doubt they’re right now sitting together, working on some sick plan to stay in power.

“I can’t see what could help them now,” Moira says sceptically. “People know what really happened after all.”

“Oppression and fear for one.” Erik can hardly believe how anyone could be so naive. “They’ll execute anyone who opposes them if they have to. You mark my words.”

“Shush,” Jean interjects, holding up a hand. “Something is happening.”

All eyes turn on her, as she stands on the middle of the room, eyes closed, and her finger pressed against her temple.

Now that it’s quiet again, Erik can definitely hear something too. Muttering, outside on the street.

Jean’s eyes pop open again. “The screens are back on. They’re broadcasting something. I’ll slip outside and watch, and stream the video into all of your heads. Stay here,” she adds, mostly to Erik, her eyebrows raised.

Without another word, she sidesteps him and slips through the door, a ray of sunlight illuminating the room for a fraction of a second, before they’re plunged back into semi-darkness.

It only takes another two seconds before an image appears before Erik’s inner eye, strangely blanking out his vision and auditory senses. It would feel as though he himself was standing outside in the sunlit street if it wasn’t for the coldness of the room on his cheeks.

It’s Shaw on the video, standing in front of an old and expensive-looking oil painting, a blond young woman next to him that Erik recognises as Marko’s daughter, Raven. Charles’ ‘sister’. Nobody else is there with them, definitely no Charles.

“...could not be left unaddressed,” Shaw says, a feigned saddened expression on his hated face. “I have trouble comprehending what happened, because I always trusted Emperor Marko and his family. They were like friends to me, but nevertheless I believe that the public deserves to know the truth, because I feel I have an obligation to every single one of you.” He closes his eyes for a moment, as though trying to recover his poise. 

Erik feels his blood starting to boil at the mere sight. Fucking lying piece of shit. 

“I know most of you believe that they saw the Crown Prince for a few seconds during the broadcast of the Emperor’s annual address earlier today,” Shaw continues. “I’m afraid to tell you that you were deceived.”

Erik senses the others around him shifting, and he hears murmuring, though he’s not sure whether it comes from his fellow rebels or the people outside in the street.

What the hell is Shaw playing at?

“I personally promulgated that Crown Prince Charles Xavier had been kidnapped and murdered by a man called Erik Lehnsherr, also known as Max Eisenhardt.” Shaw’s expression is apologetic, remorseful. “When I did I was fully convinced that Lehnsherr had acted on his own, or was perhaps part of a rebel group that had infiltrated the fleet without our knowledge. Never would I have guessed that the Emperor himself—Kurt Marko—could have recruited the man in order to have the Crown Prince assassinated.”

The murmuring grows louder, and the connection flickers for a moment, as Jean clearly has trouble processing what Shaw just said.

What the hell is going on? What is Shaw planning to achieve?

“Emperor Marko clearly did not expect protests and brave people rising up to oppose him,” Shaw continues. “He didn’t expect riots, and disbelief at his version of the story. Many of you saw what I didn’t want to see—that the Crown Prince’s death was, in fact, Kurt Marko’s doing. I deeply regret believing him, and applaud everyone who stood up to him.” He smiles winningly into the camera. 

It makes Erik feel sick to his stomach. 

“Marko was worried by the riots and protests, he told me so himself, but never would I have thought him capable of deceiving the public like he did today. His actions today opened my eyes to what kind of man Kurt Marko really is, and why he should never have become Emperor.” Shaw grabs Raven’s arm, and pulls her forward, half in front of himself.

Her eyes are wide in terror. 

“Kurt Marko,” Shaw continues, more loudly than before, the outrage in his voice so strong, Erik would have believed him if he didn’t know that he was lying. “—convinced his own daughter to pose as the Crown Prince to make it appear as though he was still alive. His plan was to install her as Emperor, posing as the deceased Crown Prince. To make it more believable, she would have appeared to punish him, but he would have secretly stayed on as advisor and made all the decisions. How could she have done it, you ask yourselves? Well, like this…” Shaw gives Raven Marko a forceful shake, and a threatening look. 

Trembling, still looking terrified, she closes her eyes. A wave of blue seems to run over her body, and in the next moment, Shaw’s hand is clasping Charles’ arm instead of Raven’s. Those are Charles’ eyes, slowly opening again, their deep blue filled with the same kind of fear that Erik saw in them as the monstrous creature attacked him on Genosha, and yet...something is off. They are Charles’ eyes, but there’s something missing, though nobody but Erik, who has spent so much time looking into them, could ever notice. The collective intake of breath around him (or Jean, it’s hard to tell) tells Erik as much.

Another wave of blue, and the terrified young woman is back. Shaw pushes her to the side, where another arm appears out of nowhere, pulling her out of the picture. Next, Shaw fixates the camera again, a sombre look on his face.

“You see?” he asks quietly. “We were all deceived, but I promise you, right here and now, that I won’t rest until the whole Marko family has been punished for all of their crimes. Together, we can do this. Let’s unite against the deception and injustice that Kurt Marko brought this beautiful Empire. And I embrace my mutant brothers and sisters too. I was never a supporter of Kurt Marko’s anti-mutant policies. In fact, I am a mutant myself. I can openly and proudly declare that today, even though until now I always had to hide it. Let’s step up, humans and mutants alike, and rise together against the injustice of the Marko regime. Let’s work towards peace and harmony between humans and mutants, not fear and persecution. Join me, all of you, my friends. Join me, and we’ll build a world we’ll happily live in.” His arms are outstretched, welcoming, the winning smile back on his lips.

Erik can only just stop himself from vomiting all over himself. The lying, deceiving bastard, telling people exactly what they want to hear to manipulate them into supporting him.

Shaw takes a step forward, and points at the camera. “I’m now speaking directly to the rebels hiding everywhere over the planet and in the galaxy. I salute you. You did well to rise against the Marko regime. You saw what I didn’t see, and I bow my head to you.” He actually does bow at this point, before looking back up, smiling. “Your fight is over now. Marko is defeated. Join me now to build a new, better, and juster Empire. Come to me, and I will welcome you and thank you. You have one week to join us and lay down your weapons. If after this week you haven’t done so, we will all regard you as a danger to our vision of a peaceful and just Empire. If in a week you haven’t joined us, you will be our enemy, and we will fight you. A fight that we will win. Keep that in mind. Now it is on each and every one of you to decide to honour the sacrifices of your brave comrades by doing the right thing and joining us in our quest for a just and equal Empire. Make the right choice. Thank you.”

He bows his head slightly again, still smiling, before the screen goes dark, and the mental image disappears, the semi-dark room coming back into focus.

All eyes are fixed on Erik, but nobody says a word. There’s doubt in a few of their eyes, but also hope in a few others.

Erik averts his eyes, staring at the floor instead.

What on Earth are they going to do now?


	20. 2.5 Charles

Charles is shivering, leaning against the cold stone wall, and hugging his legs to his body.

He has no idea how long he’s been sitting there, waiting for...something, whatever it may be. He's been calling for help, screaming at the top of his lungs, hitting his fists against the wall until they started to bleed, but nobody came, nobody bothered to check on him since he woke, and that must have been hours ago now, the only sounds his own screams reverberating off the walls.

He's completely alone. 

When Charles awoke—his head hurting so bad it felt as though it was going to split open—it took him a moment to recognise the place, his prison, since he hasn't visited the palace's dungeons in almost two decades, not since he came down there once as a little boy with his father and had nightmares for weeks following. The dungeons haven't been in use for centuries, the dark and cold corridors almost forgotten beneath the beauty and luxury of the rooms above, and subsequently they're cold, unkempt, and without electricity, the only source of light the flickering of a beacon somewhere down the corridor. 

It's the perfect place to hide someone without anyone finding out. 

Though people must be looking for him, mustn't they? They saw him after all—that part of the plan worked, if his dull memory isn’t playing tricks on him. Billions of people all over the Empire must have realised he's still alive. But did they see where he was taken? If only he could know what's going on. If only he could remember, or else slip inside someone's mind to know what happened—is happening right now. 

But they —his captors, probably Kurt and Shaw— made sure he couldn't. They thought of fucking everything, and took his only weapon. 

Charles knew it was no good when he woke to a sore pain in his left ankle—a pain that shouldn't be there at all. Nevertheless he called out mentally to Erik, Moira, Logan, everyone he could think of, but to no avail. His calls were nothing but mere thoughts echoing in his own head. He kicked out in frustration and panic as the hopelessness of his situation finally penetrated his throbbing and exhausted brain, causing the metal shackles around his ankle to rub even more painfully against his already excoriated skin. 

The wound is still bleeding slightly, still feeling as though someone is cutting the skin with a thousand knives, whenever he dares move, causing the shackles to slide over the wound again. 

Erik could remove them, just like that. He’d rip the chain out of the wall, or melt it into a blob. And then he’d hold Charles tightly, not just to warm him, but to tell him everything would be alright, and Charles would believe him, because with Erik by his side anything would be possible.

But Erik isn't here. 

Erik might be anywhere, perhaps dead, or gravely injured, though the mere thought of those possibilities is so terribly painful that Charles can hardly bring himself to consider them. Erik must be alright. Perhaps he’s still somewhere in the city, hiding, or perhaps he's fled, and is somewhere safe, not knowing that Charles is still alive and thinking of him, longing to be back in his arms.

Perhaps everyone thinks Charles dead after all, including Erik. Perhaps they’ve given up, and are trying to get as far away from Earth as possible at this very moment. Perhaps nothing at all came out of their foolish stunt, except more pain, anguish, and death. 

_ Just let Erik be safe, _ Charles thinks desperately, hugging his shaking arms around his chest.  _ And Rose, Moira, Jean, and all the others. Just let them be alive and well... _

If they all paid with their lives for Charles’ failed attempt at dispossessing Kurt—

Charles closes his eyes, his chest constricting painfully.

They'd never have even tried to attack Kurt’s army if it hadn't been for Charles being picked up by Moira’s ship, and they would have been right to stay away. Their plan —his plan— was utter madness. How could they have been so naive as to think that this may work? How could they—even for a second—believe that they'd come out of it unharmed? That they’d defeat Kurt and his army?

It's all his, Charles’, goddamn fault. He should never have included so many people in this. 

Rose, who's only sixteen; Moira, Jean, Ororo, Anna Marie, and Clarice, who are all so brave, and so valuable to the rebel movement; not to mention the thousands of mutants and humans who've put their lives on the line to make him Emperor, because he promised them freedom, justice, and a voice.

And Erik. Oh god, Erik. Good, brave, and wonderful Erik. Erik, whom Charles misses more than anything or anyone else. Erik, who Charles tried to protect by making him stay with Rose, and out of the thick of the fight, but did it work? It's hard to imagine Erik staying safe and hidden when others are in danger. When Charles is in danger. 

A stinging pain in his upper arm tells Charles his fingernails are digging into his skin, and he quickly lets go, though he can already see several drops of blood running down his skin. He needs to keep himself together. There's no way of knowing what really happened, and whether Erik and the others are alright, not until the damned serum’s effect wears off, and that might still be hours considering Charles has no idea when they injected him with it. And anyway...the dungeons’ walls could hardly be any thicker—perhaps he won't even be able to use his telepathy once he gets it back. Perhaps he'll just waste away in his cell, without ever seeing another human face, or feeling another mind.

The thought makes Charles shiver even more, and a dry sob forces itself out of his throat. 

He's not been alone for weeks, never parted from Erik for more than a few minutes, always knowing they'd see each other again very soon. 

Never again laying eyes on Erik's face, never again touching his body, and feeling the warmth of his mind—the idea is unbearable, making Charles’ chest squeeze so tightly he can hardly breathe. 

_ Erik... _

But that's why he can't think about it. Charles can't afford losing hope, because he needs to keep fighting, not only for himself, but for everyone else. Only if he keeps fighting, keeps working out a way of getting out and conquering Kurt and Shaw, is there even the slightest chance of seeing Erik again. What good will it do to expect the worst when he has no idea of what might be going on and what might happen next? He needs to stay strong for once, and he won't if all he does is dwell on what he might or might not have lost forever. 

For the hundredth time in the last hours Charles forces himself up on his shaking legs, walking the few steps his shackles allow him towards the bars, until the pain in his ankle tells him to stop. He can only just peer into the dimly lit corridor, though there's hardly anything to see, except more cells, all empty and unused for centuries. Perhaps it's a small mercy they lit up a beacon, since otherwise it would be pitch dark, though Charles can hardly imagine they did it to make him more comfortable. 

“Anyone here?” he asks unhopefully into the silence again, more calmly this time, almost quietly, after all the yelling has left his throat raw.

They didn't even leave him something to drink. 

Still the words echo eerily from the walls, making the hairs on the back of Charles’ neck stand on end. Though that might also be because of the coldness of the place, which has spread to Charles’ very bones by now, making him shiver and feel even weaker, almost ill. 

Kurt and his people knew exactly what they were doing when they took his jacket, socks, and shoes as he lay unconscious. Coldness paralyses you much more quickly than hunger or thirst alone could ever do. They're already trying to break him, with the combination of all three—cold, hunger, thirst—plus uncertainty, trying to make him give up, and Charles has to admit that there have been a few moments in the last hours when they almost succeeded. 

Charles can't make it as easy for them. Even though it seems as though there's no way out for him, even though it seems as if they've already won, he won't roll over and surrender. He's done that far too often already in his life, hidden away, allowing his insecurities to get the better of him. It was the reason Kurt could do all these horrible things in the first place, Charles hiding, letting things happen without interference, forced into passiveness by his own uncertainties, while still hating himself, knocking himself down even more deeply into self-pity and a feeling of powerlessness.

Not anymore. 

“You're not going to break me!” Charles yells into the silence, though he doesn't expect an answer, doesn't even expect anyone to hear him. 

He's well aware that they might not have to break him to defeat him, that they might have to do little more than leave him in his cell for several days until he's succumbed to thirst or cold, unable to break through the thick walls surrounding him with his telepathy, and yet it makes a difference to swear to himself that he won't give up, and won't stop fighting until the very last minute. 

And it makes a difference to hear his own voice and determination. Even if it’s just a mental battle, just a question of keeping his head up high and hopeful, he’ll keep fighting.

For everyone who might still be out there working towards a better world and Empire. For Moira, Kitty, Jean, Ororo, Anna Marie, Clarice, Rose, and all their fellows. And most of all for Erik, for the shred of hope that they might see each other again, that they might get the chance to hold one another again, and maybe, just maybe build the future that they allowed themselves to dream about only a few nights earlier.

A school for young mutants. A safe haven for all those lost children who are scared of what they can do, and what they can’t control yet. For children whose parents or communities rejected them because they didn’t understand them.

Charles sinks to the floor again, his back against the cold wall once more, his eyes closed, allowing his imagination to drift away from the darkness, coldness, and hopelessness of his dungeon prison to another time, another world, where Kurt is defeated, where Charles and Erik are together, and Charles has managed to build the Empire he’s always dreamt of, shedding the crushing responsibility of a job he never wanted, and leaving people in charge that he trusts to do the right things.

He can almost see the children and teenagers laughing, running across the sunlit lawn in front of a large building that, for some reason, looks like the country house Charles used to go on holiday with his parents when he was little. He used to love spending his summers there, even though his mother kept to herself like she did in the palace, and his father was just as busy as usual. The grounds were enormous, and he was free to spend almost all day outside —something that was impossible in the palace located in the middle of the city. It could have been the perfect place to grow up, with a loving family, and friends to spend his time with, and perhaps it could be, for so many other lost children.

And he could finally have a family, a real one, with Erik. Perhaps Raven could join them, and Logan. It could be wonderful. All people that he loves surrounding him, and a real purpose to his life, something he can truly be proud of.

Charles can almost feel the sun’s warmth on his face as he imagines sitting outside and watching the children play, Erik by his side, their fingers intertwined. He'd turn to look into the other man's face to see it relaxed for once, at peace and content. Erik, too, has been alone for too long, without a family to love and cherish him. They could have everything, all the happiness, warmth, and the sense of belonging they've missed most of their lives. 

If there’s one thing to keep fighting for, what is it if not this image, a world in which lost children can find a home again?

If there's even the slightest chance that this might become reality how could Charles ever give up? 

He keeps his eyes closed for a little longer, allowing the fantasy to become more detailed, and to weave itself into his brain. It’s all he has left after all, his only reason to keep going. He needs to hold on to it, and make sure he never forgets how it felt to imagine himself in the middle of it. And the look on Erik's face, a look that he's seen a few times before in some of their calmer moments alone together. Charles can never forget that look, just the idea of seeing it again makes his heart swell in his chest. 

Only very reluctantly does Charles let his mind slip back into the coldness, darkness, and loneliness of his prison. He can revisit the shelter of his dreams later, while trying to keep its warmth secure in his heart. Now he's got to stay focused on what is right before him.  

For the millionth time Charles’ eyes roam the miserable place, trying to find something,  _ anything _ to help him in his desperate situation, even though he knows, deep down, that there's nothing he hasn't seen yet. 

There are the thick bars, allowing him to glance into the empty corridor, the chain around his ankle, secured in the stone wall, and unyielding however hard he pulls. There's the metal bucket in a corner, which Charles very reluctantly used to relieve himself earlier—though only once the pressure in his bladder became almost too much to bear—and which now gives off an unpleasant smell. Perhaps its handle could become a weapon, if anyone ever bothered to come in again—though even if he did manage to incapacitate a possible guard...what next? There'd still be the chain keeping him in place, not to mention the fact that surely somebody else would notice him attacking a guard…

Perhaps not such a good idea after all.

Charles’ eyes fall on a little black dot in one of the corners of the dark ceiling of his cell. He spotted it before, but didn't think much of it. It might just as well be dirt, or a darker bit of stone, but nevertheless Charles forces himself up on his trembling legs again, and hobbles as far as he can go without hurting his ankle further. The chain stops him from getting too close, but regardless Charles thinks he recognises the tiny object mounted on the wall, and the minuscule lens focused on him. 

So they are watching him after all, perhaps also listening in. Maybe they did hear his angry yell earlier too. Will it prompt them to leave him on his own to see whether the loneliness and cold will make him crack after all? Or will they perhaps decide that more drastic measures are in order if he stays insubordinate? Is Charles perhaps ruining his chances of getting his telepathy back? After all it’s the only real way of getting out of his prison, if he managed to break through the thick walls.

What would be the best thing to do to make them believe they needn't bother with him? Appear lethargic? Pretend to sleep? Cry? Rock back and forth on the floor? 

And in any case, is there any way for him to influence what they'll do to him, or is it decided already? Why is he still alive and not dead and burnt already? Are they planning to have him executed in some massive media stunt? But that wouldn't make sense...wouldn't their best bet be to just make him disappear? 

But then again, why isn't he already dead? 

 

Hour after hour goes by, and nothing whatsoever happens. Charles gets up and paces the room as far as his chain allows him every now and again before he sits back down and stares into the emptiness of the room, recapitulating everything he knows in his head, again and again, attempting to put the missing pieces together. Their plan, his and Moira’s arrival at the arena, disguised as an old couple. Erik turning up outside, them exchanging a few words mentally, before Kurt began to speak. Even though the memory becomes more blurry the further he advances, Charles is sure that the next part of the plan also worked. He did manage to slip into the cameramen’s and boom operators’ minds and make them hurry over to him, and he spoke to the people of the Empire for a moment, revealing himself, before…

Before  _ what? _

The remaining memories are fragmented, and it’s hard to tell whether they’re real at all, or merely fantasy, a dream he had while being unconscious. Did the rebels really attack, as planned? What went wrong that got Charles captured? Something happened that they hadn’t counted on, but  _ what? _ What is causing goosebumps to break out all over his body as he tries to remember? And  _ why _ can’t he make himself recall what happened anyway? He was  _ there _ and awake for most of it. He’s sure of it. Did he faint? Was he knocked out so badly it damaged his memory? What about the others?

Charles tears at his hair in frustration as his memory only seems to slip away further. It’s like trying to keep water in his bare hands—the images grow fainter instead of stronger as he tries to grasp at them, to understand what’s going on.

At some point Charles slumps against the wall again, feeling useless. Why can’t he remember? Why can’t he even use his time properly to understand the situation?

Charles tries to blank out his thirst and hunger, and the cold that has pretty much become a part of his body and mind by now. But he's used to coldness. It was so much colder on Genosha, and still he got through it, so he will get through this too. He only has to stay focused, and not allow himself to... 

If only Erik were with him though, there to warm him like he did on their solitary planet…if only Charles knew where Erik is, and whether he's alright…

What if Erik is dead? What if whatever happened killed him? Or what if he came running into the arena to find Charles and was killed in the struggle?

These painful and desperate thoughts pop up unbidden in Charles’ head every once in a while, but he chases them right away again by imagining the sunlit scene in the garden of his school, and bathing in the warmth of his dream. 

Hope and dreams, it's all he has, and so he needs to keep them alive in his heart and mind, shutting out misery and fear best he can.

 

The tingling sensation in his calves arising after what feels like a day doesn't take Charles by surprise—he's been waiting for it to come for hours—and even though it's uncomfortable, and he knows it'll become even worse in the few hours to follow he’s grateful the moment has finally arrived. Perhaps soon he'll know what is happening, and what he can do to find Erik and the others again. 

Resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes again, Charles wills himself away once more, to a place where the prickling sensation in his legs doesn't grow into what feels like flames burning his flesh, and millions of knives cutting the skin on his back. It works for a while, though occasionally he flinches in pain and has to work hard to focus again, but after a while he's brutally forced back into reality at the point where usually the murmuring and whispering would start driving him crazy. 

This time it's different. The murmuring is barely perceivable, as if the people whose minds are making the noise were miles away, or perhaps not there at all, a mere memory of what thoughts sound like. Instead there's another noise, a new, unfamiliar one, like a neverending echo of a terrified scream, reverberating off of the boundaries of his mind, growing stronger by the second, accompanied by a mounting pressure in his head, more painful and crushing than ever before, threatening to split his head open, his vision going white, his brain and body on fire. He can’t breathe, can’t think. Everything is pain and flames and brightness and pressure, and he can’t stand it anymore. Surely he won’t survive this. He can’t, nobody could. He’ll die alone in his cell, killed by his own telepathy turning on him—

Dully Charles registers a squeaking noise nearby, though he can't be sure whether it's just his brain collapsing from the pressure and agony. And what could it be anyway. If there was another person Charles would feel them—he'd welcome another mind, another person's thoughts, a shelter for the unrestrained forces of his telepathy to slip into and not echo and grow solely within his own head, turning inwards to destroy himself without another mind to target—but then, what's that warm touch on his forearm? What's the pressure on his upper arm? And that familiar sting followed by cool liquid running through his veins? 

The pressure in Charles’ head lets up almost at once, the terrible sound dying away, and so does the pain in his legs and back. His vision returns to normal, leaving him blinking a few times to get his dark surroundings back into focus. He's lying on the cold stone floor, his cheek pressed into the dark and cold stone, every single muscle humming and buzzing as if he just finished running a marathon, his mind so fucking exhausted he'd want nothing more than to just close his eyes and sleep forever, just be left the fuck alone by the whole goddamn universe and its endless pain and suffering.

There's a scratching noise nearby and some rustling, before a man's sneering face appears in front of Charles’ tired eyes. He's almost too close to make out properly, but Charles would recognise him anywhere. Him and his vile helmet. 

Charles’ stomach turns over.

“Well, that was interesting,” Shaw says quietly, the derision palpable in every single syllable. “I've never witnessed this before. Was I just in time, or could we have...drawn it out any longer?”

“Where’s Erik?” Charles forces out, ignoring Shaw’s question. 

For a moment he fears he's said too much, but...there's no way Shaw doesn't know about Erik and him—he's not an idiot after all. He witnessed Erik's call for help on Genosha, he must have put two and two together by now. And if Emma Frost still works for Kurt and him there's nothing Charles could keep secret anyway. 

Shaw smirks. “Wouldn't you like to know…”

Charles’ heart skips a beat. 

_ He's bluffing, _ he tells himself desperately.  _ He doesn't know where Erik is. Erik is fine, he must be. He— _

“Let's not talk about your boyfriend,” Shaw continues, the sneer still on his lips. “Let's talk about you,  _ your Majesty.” _ There's nothing but mockery in the way the words are spoken. “Why don't you sit up? This is not a very dignified position, is it?”

Before Charles can argue or move by himself Shaw has grabbed his shoulder and shoved him against the wall so forcefully Charles has trouble catching his breath for a moment. There’s a weird noise, and a stinging pain in Charles’ chest that makes him wonder whether a rib might have just broken.

This is not normal. No ordinary man could exert as much force with as little effort. What is going on? What secrets is the Captain hiding?

Shaw chuckles at the look of terror on Charles’ face. “So you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Charles wheezes in spite of himself.

“Remember what happened in the arena,” Shaw replies softly, dangerously. He chuckles again as Charles doesn’t reply. “Well, let’s just say that even with your mutation you’re nothing against me, so you better stop trying if you want little Erik to stay alive.”

Charles can only stare at him, frozen, trying to process what he just heard.

Shaw’s got Erik. Erik is still alive, but there’s no knowing what condition he’s in. And it seems as though Shaw is a mutant—a very powerful one if the force with which he pushed Charles against the wall is anything to go by. 

They’re well and truly fucked.

That is, if Shaw is telling the truth. There’s still the chance that he’s bluffing—about Erik at least. But can Charles really risk it? Risk getting Erik hurt or killed by not doing as Shaw says? And what is there to be gained by opposing Shaw at the moment anyway? It’s not as though Charles has any chance to escape.

The unpleasant smile on Shaw’s face grows wider as he watches Charles reach his conclusion. “Very well,” he says. “I take it you want to know why you’re here?”

Charles doesn’t reply. He desperately wants to know everything that’s going on, but he’s well aware that he can’t trust a word that leaves Shaw’s mouth, though it won’t hurt to hear what Shaw wants him to believe. But he won’t answer to Shaw like a little boy to his teacher. He’s had enough of that. Shaw can’t treat him—

In the next moment Shaw has grabbed hold of Charles’ chin and pulled it forcibly upward, forcing him to look into his face. It doesn’t seem as though he’s used a lot of strength to do so, but nevertheless Charles can already tell by the excruciating pain that his skin is going to be bruised beyond recognition.

“Look, I don’t think you understand your situation yet,  _ your Majesty,” _ Shaw whispers dangerously. “You’re no longer in charge, and neither is your precious mentor. _ I’m _ about to be Emperor now, and you better show me all due respect, or I’ll make sure your loverboy pays dearly for your misbehaviour.”

Charles can’t move or speak, only stare at Shaw in horror. He needs to process what he said—Kurt being no longer in charge—but it’s hard to do so, when all he can think about is Erik being in danger. Erik suffering because Charles is too proud to do as Shaw says.

“So look me in the goddamn eyes while I speak to you, understood?” Shaw continues, giving Charles’ chin a forceful tug, which makes it feel as though Charles’ jaw is close to being ripped out.

“Yes,” Charles manages to choke out.

Shaw lets go, but Charles doesn’t dare touch the stinging and throbbing skin on his face. He just keeps staring at the other man, terrified of making a wrong move and prompting him to hurt Erik.

The satisfied smile on Shaw’s lips is terrifying. “So...do you want to know why you’re here?”

Charles hesitates. “Yes,” he says quietly, his ears growing hot.

“You know, I think it would be appropriate if  you called me ‘sir’ from now on.”

Charles can’t help his fists clenching, and he tries desperately not to let any of his anger and humiliation show on his face.

_ It’s no big deal, _ he tells himself. He’s had thousands of people call him ‘sir’ almost his whole life, and he hardly ever thought much of it. It won’t kill him now to address Shaw thus. It doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean he recognises Shaw as the new Emperor, but at least Shaw will be satisfied.

“Yes, sir,” Charles says as calmly as he can.

Charles wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Shaw’s smile grows even wider. “Very well,” he smirks. “Since you’ve asked so nicely. You did me a huge favour, you know? I’ve been looking for a way to blame Kurt Marko for your death and have him charged with treason without implicating myself. I wasn’t sure how best to proceed...but then you turned up and did almost all the work for me.” He laughs unpleasantly. “But to answer the question...the only reason you’re not dead yet is because I want you to witness my rise to power. Call me vain, but nothing gives me more satisfaction than to see you like this—at my feet, where you belong. I could never see why anyone would want you—a man so weak he’s unable to embrace his own uniqueness—to reign over them, but luckily...” he laughs loudly, madly. “...it will never happen. This Empire deserves a strong and powerful leader, and who would be more suited for this job than myself? All I want…” he adds in a soft voice. “...is for you to see what a real leader looks like—someone who hasn’t just got a loud voice and a temper like Kurt Marko—someone with real strength, real power.”

Charles shivers. “What does this mean?” he asks, and he hates that he can’t help a light tremor in his voice. “What are you going to do?”

The almost soft expression on Shaw’s face is perhaps even more terrifying than his mad smile. “Oh, you will see,” he says quietly. “You will see what I mean, and you’ll quiver in fear at my infinite power. And I will revel in your fear…”

Shaw gazes almost dreamily into the emptiness of the room for a moment before he pushes himself back up on his feet. “I’ll send someone with food and drink in the next hours, and I’ll also instruct them to empty your bucket. It reeks.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Be a good boy and don’t attack them—nothing will come of it, but I’ll know you did it, and you know who’s going to pay for every misdeed in your stead.” He smiles again, sending more shivers down Charles’ spine. “I’ll see you very soon... _ your Majesty.” _


	21. 2.6 Erik

“Listen, please!”

Erik hardly hears his own voice over all the babbling. The noise is maddening, thousands of people in the Siren’s dining hall and the corridor outside, all talking, debating, nobody bothering to keep their voices down. This shit has been going on for fucking  _ hours, _ more mutants arriving all the time, joining in the conversations all around the room, many left outside because they didn’t fit. It’s hard to make out anything anybody is saying with all the noise in the room, and the fact that they’re not finally keeping their gobs shut to fucking listen, and plan their next move, whilst Shaw is clearly getting his army ready for a fight, and they have still no idea where Charles is, is driving Erik absolutely crazy.

How can they be so fucking stupid and disorganised? Erik can’t just watch everything spinning out of control, because nobody but him sees the urgency of their situation. He can’t let it happen.

“Shut up! Just shut up and listen!”

Erik uses his powers to slam a chair into the metal wall at full force, the resulting clanking sound causing everyone to spin around, looking for the source of the noise. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks in a shaking voice once he’s got everyone’s attention. “We should be organising, planning, fighting! Not just standing around, talking, and doing nothing.”

“Who says we’re going to fight?” a blond young man with large white feathery wings interjects in an irritatingly smug voice. “Why should we fight? We got everything we wanted.”

There’s some murmur of agreement coming from the crowd. Some are crossing their arms, staring at Erik defiantly.

Erik can only just stop himself from walking over to the young man, grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him, or slapping him across the face. Either would do, and both would make Erik feel a lot better.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What did you get? Another goddamn tyrant? That’s what you wanted?”

“Who says he’s a tyrant?” a woman with purple scales all over her face chimes in. “He’s one of us — a mutant — and he promised to protect us. That’s all we ever wanted.”

More affirmative murmuring.

What the hell is wrong with them? Why can’t they see —

“He’s n —you don’t even—” Panic is rising in Erik’s chest at the look of all the defiant faces looking at him, apparently convinced that they can trust Shaw, just because he’s a mutant like them. Erik didn’t think they would fall for his lies so easily, when it’s so obvious to him that’s all they are. And yet he has trouble coming up with anything to convince them—if he didn’t know Shaw’s real nature, he’d probably be pleased with a mutant being in charge, just like them. “He’s not the man you think he is,” he concludes rather lamely.

It’s silent for a moment.

“What do you mean?” the blond young man speaks up again in a challenging tone. “Be a little more precise, will you? You don’t actually think a bad feeling of yours is enough to convince us all to throw away the one shot we might get at becoming equal, do you?”

Erik opens his mouth to speak, because there are so many things he could tell them about Shaw to make them see the truth. But before he can even make a sound he closes it again. There’s a large lump in his throat, making it impossible for him to speak, his heart racing, sweat breaking out all over his body. 

He can’t talk openly to them about what happened, what Shaw did to his parents and so many others. However much he needs to, the words won’t come. Charles is the only one who knows apart from him, and it cost all of Erik’s strength to tell Charles only recently, even though he loves and trusts Charles like nobody else. He can’t retell the darkest moments of his life in front of a few thousand people, most of whom are complete strangers. He can’t break down in front of them and weep. He wouldn’t be able to stand it.

“He lied,” Erik begins again, but his voice is trembling even more. But he needs to do this. There are so many other bad things about Shaw, and he has to convince them. Erik can’t lose all of them to Shaw—it would mean not only losing his chance—their chance—at finally putting things right again, he would lose Charles too, lose him forever. He needs to convince them. “You know he lied about Charles not really being at the arena, and you know he lied about me being ordered to kill Charles—I can tell you that he was in on the plan. Not only that, he actually ordered it. He—how can you believe anything he says? He tried to kill both me and Charles, and—”

“Fine, so what if he lied,” the young man interjects yet again. “I don’t really care. He made sure Marko was thrown in prison, and he’ll punish him for everything he did—that’s more than you or the Crown Prince ever achieved. Why should we place our trust in you instead of him? What have  _ you _ done to make us believe you?”

“You can believe him, Warren,” Jean says sharply. “I do. If Erik says Shaw is not to be trusted I believe him, and—”

“Then something’s gone wrong with your telepathy,” Warren interrupts her defiantly. “I don’t see why we should act against our own interest and attack a guy who promises us everything we ever wanted, just to try and make the Crown Prince Emperor—even though he’s probably already dead.”

Erik’s heart squeezes painfully at those words, so casually spoken, so uncaring, even though they depict Erik’s greatest fear, the one possibility he can’t bring himself to consider. Because Charles must be alright, he simply  _ must  _ be. Or else everything is lost, at least for Erik. If Charles is dead, Erik may as well join everyone else in walking towards their doom by trusting Shaw.

But he can’t think like that. He fucking can’t.  _ Hope _ is what he needs not fear and thoughts of doom,  _ hope _ is what will keep him going.

Moira chimes in angrily. “Warren, how can you say that, and still support Shaw? If what you say is true, and Charles is dead, it’s his, Shaw’s doing. He attacked us all, killed some of us, don’t you remember? How can you—”

“Shaw only defended himself,” a young woman objects irritably. “We attacked first. What should he have done? Let us kill him? Let’s be honest. You’re only saying all that because you can’t stand a mutant being in charge, admit it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Moira splutters, but her protest is drowned by booing noises and yells of agreement.

“Back off, human!” an angry male voice yells from the back followed by loud cheering.

“We’re done with your oppression,” screams another. 

More hooting, and applause.

“For fuck’s sake, stop!” Jean yells, but the only reason Erik hears her is because he’s right beside her.

The noise has grown to an ear-splitting level again. They’ve begun chanting, more and more people joining their yells of “Mutants first!”

Erik stares from one heated face to another, horrified by how quickly the angry mob seems to grow and get worked up. It’s all getting out of control within moments, the rising anger and excitement in the room palpable even without telepathic powers. And the worst thing is, Erik knows only a few weeks earlier he’d have gladly joined them.

“Fucking get her!” the woman with the purple scales shrieks.

Before anyone can object a group of several mutants rushes forward, ready to attack Moira with their powers—something she would never be able to protect herself against.

Without thinking, Erik lifts up several chairs and throws them into the direction of the attackers knocking them off their feet, away from Moira, who backs into a corner, Jean and Rogue stepping in front of her.

Yells of fury everywhere. The room seems to be on fire with enragement, but luckily no lethal shots are being fired yet, no mutations are being used to injure or worse, kill.

“Traitors!” someone yells from the middle of the mob. “Fraternising with the humans!”

More shouts, and the mob begins to move forward again. It’s getting out of control, the sparks in their eyes becoming more pronounced. 

Erik can sense his fists clenching and unclenching, his shoulders tensing up.

“Stop! For fuck’s sake!”

With a whooshing sound Storm comes flying over the heads of the people, landing right in front of Moira and the others.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asks angrily. “Nobody in here is the enemy.”

Some, possibly her fellows, the people who chose her as Captain, take a step back. Others don’t, but nevertheless some of the tension seems to seep out of the room.

“You’re out of line,” Storm continues angrily, her eyes flashing white. “Get yourselves together.”

It takes some time, but one after the other, the mutants retreat, though the fire in their eyes doesn’t quite disappear. Something has shifted in the atmosphere within the room. A gap has opened, dividing them into two groups—a gap they seem hardly able to close again.

_ You’re right, _ Erik hears Jean say in his head.  _ We are divided. I can tell we won’t be able to convince them. Their minds are made up. Better to make clear where we stand. We can’t afford to lose any more time. _

_ What do you mean, ‘their minds are made up’? _ Erik snaps back.

_ They want to trust Shaw,  _ she replies simply.  _ A lot of them at least. _

Before Erik can respond, the bile rising up in his throat at the thought of anyone putting their trust in the one man who so obviously shouldn’t be in power, she takes a step forward, coming to a halt next to Storm.

“This is simple,” she says to them. “A simple decision. I’m never going to bow down to Shaw, because I don’t believe he’s a good man—or one to trust. I’ll oppose him until the day that I die. I’m not going to force anyone to join me though. If you want to serve the new Emperor—fine. But don’t stand in my way. I don’t want to fight you, any of you. This is where we go our separate ways. Make your choice now—I’m not going to waste any time trying to convince any of you.”

She falls silent again, looking from one face to the other. There’s shock visible in a lot of their eyes, pride in others, or downright defiance.

Erik can feel a chill running down his spine, even though it’s so warm in the room. Only two days earlier the atmosphere was friendly. He didn’t know more than a few names, and yet they all felt like friends somehow, almost family, like people he could trust, people who would give their lives for the same cause. For Charles.

Not anymore.

“Fine,” Warren says after a moment, his lips a thin white line. “Who wants to join me in going back to Earth and assisting Shaw in building an Empire which will finally treat us mutants the way we deserve?”

There’s some murmurs of agreement, some enthusiastic shouts of agreement,  some applause, but it’s scattered, impossible to tell how many of them are joining in.

Jean nods, her expression inscrutable. “Well, everyone who’s with me, who won’t accept Shaw as their sovereign, please follow me outside. The rest of you...I suppose everyone has to do what they feel is right.” And she turns around and walks through the door without another backward glance.

Erik looks at Storm, at Moira, at Blink, Kitty, and Rogue, all standing in the front with him, all looking shocked at what just happened, at the abruptness of the separation, but then they all turn too, following Jean outside, Erik behind them.

Erik doesn’t look back as he follows the others through the Siren’s corridors, until they reach the open hatch leading outside. He can already tell by the lack of sound of footsteps behind him, how few have decided to join them—and how many have decided to abandon them and join Shaw instead.

It’s like a slap to his face. He trusted those people, it felt as though they had the same goal of putting an end to injustice and despotism, to hunger and mistreatment. He thought they were on Charles’ side. They seemed to love him, only a few days earlier, and now they’re ready to abandon him for  _ Shaw.  _ Nothing about what the rebels have been fighting against is going to change with Shaw as Emperor, except perhaps the role of mutants. If anything Shaw will be more ruthless, more violent, more unjust. Experience has told Erik as much.

And now they’re all putting their trust in him, simply because he’s a mutant.

It’s weird Erik finds himself on Moira’s, the human’s side of the fight. If it weren’t for his personal history with Shaw, and the time he spent with Charles, Erik would have blindly joined the mutant mob, chanting with them, perhaps attacking Moira and the other humans if Storm hadn’t intervened, he has no illusions about that. And he understands the mutants’ anger, he really does. He’s been mistreated too, mostly by humans, and a hatred and and mistrust of everything human has grown inside him over the years, as well as a deep loyalty with all the other mutants suffering oppression and discrimination. 

Or at least he thought so, because he always thought Shaw was a human too.

If it weren’t for everything he learnt especially in those last days and weeks Erik would have been only too happy to join the mutant mob, would have gotten carried away, not caring who he’s making pay for all the pain, rejection and abuse in his life. In his mind they’d have deserved it, just for being human, for being part of the oppressing system.

He really gets what’s making the other mutants act like this. They all suffered cruelly in their lives. Yearlong abuse and oppression leaves its marks on both the body and the mind.

But nevertheless there’s no denying the fact that once again the strong are attacking the weak and innocent. The human rebels never hurt anyone, even fought alongside them for mutant equality, and—however hard it is for Erik to admit it—Moira is one of the mutants’ greatest allies. She doesn’t deserve what just happened. As Charles said—she’s trustworthy, and the best Captain the people from the Siren could have chosen. She’s one of the good ones.

How simple it is to incite a group of people to mob someone they only recently called a friend by appealing to group dynamics and enmity. Shaw knows this of course. He and Marko have been practising it for years, making mutants their targets and scapegoats. Erik, and all mutant rebels learned that the hard way. 

What a clever move to turn the dynamics around now, appeal to the mutants’ pride and loyalty to each other, when humans are no longer a threat.

There’s no way Shaw didn’t do it on purpose. The bastard.

How well it worked, dividing the one group that could have endangered his position of power to put the rightful Emperor on the throne, diminishing the hope Erik had of gathering their army again, and fighting Shaw, of finally conquering the monster and making him pay for his crimes, as well as finding Charles again, finding him in time to save him before it’s too late.

The only reason Erik agreed to come back to Galba, to their ships, was to organise and fight again, ultimately defeating Shaw and saving Charles, but how can they proceed now, how can anyone still believe they’ll stand a chance fighting Shaw and his army? It seems less and less possible Erik will ever see the man he loves again, those beautiful, deep blue eyes, those red red lips, and feel the soft caress of his mind wrapping itself around Erik’s like a warm, protective blanket.

_ Charles. Oh Charles... _

“There still has to be a way,” Erik forces out through clenched teeth as they come to a halt in the place in between the ships.

Moira’s eyes turn in his direction. She looks tired, almost defeated. “A way for what?”

“A way to defeat Shaw...and save Charles.”

There’s sadness in her eyes, and something like pity. “I’m sorry, Erik. It seems...almost impossible.”

“I get it. You won’t help me,” Erik snaps, secretly knowing that he’s being unreasonable, that he couldn’t ask anyone to still fight alongside him, when hardly anyone decided to join them after all, when the odds are stacked so highly against them. It would be madness for them to proceed, with only so few of them gathered together. He can’t ask anyone to die for him.

But he’ll do it, and if it kills him. He won’t give up on Charles. Never.

It’s silent for a moment, as Moira looks into his eyes, as though considering him. “I will,” she says then, in a calm voice. “I never said I wouldn’t. That’s why I followed Jean outside isn’t it? To fight.”

The surprise must be visible on Erik’s face, because Moira smiles sadly. “I don’t really have anything to lose anymore, Erik. So of course I’ll help you. I know we hardly stand a chance, we probably won’t survive this, but...we still have to try. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. Though I think we should still wait and see whether there are any more who want to fight alongside us.”

Erik snorts. “You saw them. There’s no way they’ll join us. They’d rather fight us. They believe Shaw. Fucking idiots,” he adds, his teeth clenched.

“I wouldn’t be so quick there,” Jean interjects. “Not all of them joined the mob. Some stayed behind and were ready to help if we didn’t get out. I could tell there were many who weren’t so keen on the idea of joining Shaw. It felt as though about half of them were on our side.”

Erik glances at her, his heart beating faster in his chest. “When you say ‘our’ side...”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you fucking idiot. I’m saying I’m still fighting. It’s complete madness, but yes. I’m standing by what I said. I’m never going to bow down to Shaw. I’ll fight him, and if it’s the last thing that I do.”

“Same here,” Rogue chimes in. “I’m coming with you too.”

Blink and Kitty nod vigorously.

Erik stares from one face to the other, his heart in his throat.

It’s ridiculous,  _ madness, _ as Jean put it, but still the fact that there are still friends who are willing to risk everything for a better life, for justice, for  _ Charles, _ has his heart swelling in his chest, even though he’s well aware that a handful of fighters will hardly stand a chance facing Shaw’s army.

He’s about to tell them all what it means to have them by his side, when Jean’s lips curl into a small smile. “Told you,” she says quietly, her eyes fixed on the hatch behind Erik.

The sight he’s greeted with when he turns around almost makes his legs buckle.

There are people, many of them, hundreds, perhaps more than a thousand—though still only a fraction of the thousands of rebels that were gathered inside the ship. Some of them Erik knows by name—Rose for example, and Sean—but there are also others he’s never even spoken to. Most of them look nervous, but there’s no hostility in their gaze. 

Rose gives Erik a small smile, and he smiles back, almost in spite of himself.

“Alright,” Jean says, stepping forward, as soon as they’ve all gathered around them in a circle. “Who’s ready to fight?”

 

Their great advantage over the rest of the rebels who chose to follow Shaw instead of oppose him is that they’ve got Blink on their side, and the others will have to reach Earth by ship—a trip that takes about three days. Blink creates a portal to a clearing in the same forest Erik, Charles, Moira, Rose, and the others waited only a day and a half earlier, only this time they don’t separate but all stay in the same place. All few hundred of them.

It's lucky for them that it's summer in the region around the Capital and therefore warm enough to stay outside overnight, though none of them find any sleep. 

For a few hours they're busy debating their next move, only too aware of their lack of options considering the size of Shaw’s army, and the need to act soon—preferably within the next few days—in order to prevent having to fight an additional army of mutants. And because their chances of rescuing Charles alive and well lessen with every passing moment, though nobody talks about that out loud, and Erik doubts it’s the most pressing subject on anyone’s mind but his. There are millions of obstacles to overcome, and every few minutes one of them seems to discover another one, though luckily at least some of them can be resolved quickly.

When Erik startles and curses as he remembers Charles mentioning Emma Frost, the telepath working for Shaw, who already unmasked Erik once before, for instance, Jean can quickly reassure him.

“I know about her,” she says. “I already sensed her. Something’s weird about her though. It almost seems as though she’s lost her powers. I tried not to get to close to her though, so I don’t really know. Anyway, I’m pretty sure she can’t sense us here, and has no idea we’re even here.”

It’s one thing less to worry about, but there are millions more. What about the guards wearing helmets? How are they supposed to attack Shaw? The trick should be to take his helmet away, but how are they supposed to achieve that, what with his mutant powers, as well as numerous guards protecting him—most of them probably also wearing helmets? And how are they supposed to get into the palace? Blink could open a portal, but where should she have it lead them? Should they try and stay hidden? Surprise them? Or storm the palace with their combined force, make it quick, but accept Shaw and his whole army becoming aware of them?

At some point, long after darkness has fallen and the forest clearing has been plunged into almost complete darkness, they fall quiet again, not having been able to agree on anything as of yet, all ideas sounding simply ludicrous and impossible.

Erik closes his eyes, trying hard to blank out the sounds of the forest around him, concentrating on his mind, like he did right after they arrived in the forest.

Perhaps something has changed. Perhaps now Charles will—

_ Charles, _ Erik thinks desperately.  _ If you’re out there, please talk to me. _

No answering voice appears in his head, no soft caress, nothing, not even a hint of Charles’ so familiar presence, though Erik didn’t really expect it anyway.

Earlier Charles didn’t say anything, so what should have changed for him to contact Erik now? Besides, Charles said his range was large, but only that for listening in. How near would Erik have to be for Charles to talk to him? They are probably miles from the palace, and Erik can’t even be sure that that’s where Charles is hidden, if he’s not—

Erik shakes his head slightly, his teeth clenched, trying to chase the terrifying thought away.

Charles is alive, he must be. And Erik will believe so until he’s seen proof of the opposite. He won’t give up. He won’t let dark thoughts bring him down, and stop him from finding Charles again.

Even if Charles can’t talk to Erik he might be able to hear him, or feel his love and fear for him. Perhaps Erik’s mind is so familiar to Charles by now that he can find him amongst the millions of other minds in the city. Perhaps Charles is there at this very moment, listening to Erik’s thoughts.

_ I love you, Charles, _ Erik thinks, holding back tears that nobody would be able to see anyway in the almost-darkness.  _ I love you so much. I’ll find you, and I’ll hold you, and we’ll be together again. We’ll build that school you dreamt of, and— _

Erik catches sight of Jean’s silhouette, her face turned in his direction, apparently watching him, and quickly turns away from her, his ears growing hot, which luckily nobody can see. 

Of course she heard him, how could she not. He’s essentially been screaming his message into the void for Charles to hear, but of course Jean couldn’t help but notice. He can’t even blame her. And it’s not as though she doesn’t know what’s going on. She knows exactly what Charles means to him—they all do, even if they don’t talk about it.

A sudden idea comes to his mind, and he turns back to look at Jean whose eyes are still fixed on him.

_ Can you sense him? _

_ No. _ Her mental voice is soft, and apologetic.  _ I tried right when we arrived, but I can’t sense him at all. _

Erik’s throat tightens.  _ That doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s— _

_ No, it doesn't, _ Jean agrees quickly.  _ It might not mean anything. He might be shielded by something, or too far away for me to reach—all I’m saying is that if I can’t sense him he probably won’t be able to hear you either. _

Shielded. Or too far away...

_ Can you sense the people in the palace? _

She hesitates.  _ Some of them, but the signal isn’t perfect. It’s a few miles away, and the walls are thick. _

_ So he might be in there? _

Her telepathic sigh sets Erik’s teeth on edge.  _ I don’t know. I doubt it to be honest. I haven’t been able to sense him at all, and if he’s in there, and conscious, I should definitely be able to feel him better than anyone else in there, because another psychic presence is always more...salient. But as I said, _ she adds, clearly sensing Erik’s distress.  _ He might be shielded by something. _

For a moment neither of them says anything.

Erik has trouble keeping his panic in check. All this time he managed to convince himself that Charles was somewhere in the palace, kept from fleeing, but nevertheless alive and well, reaching out to try and find Erik. The discussion of tactics, the feeling of doing something, getting ready to rescue Charles helped Erik keep his thoughts positive, because he knew he had to be, because Charles has to be okay, but now…

_ Jean, do you think he’s—? _

_ I don’t know, Erik, _ she says gently.  _ There are a million things that could keep him from getting into contact. He might be unconscious, or asleep. That combined with him being far away could keep me from finding him. Perhaps they made him wear a helmet, or maybe he’s in a telepathically shielded room—I really don’t know, and I don’t want to speculate. Let’s just believe he’s in there somewhere, waiting for us to find him, alright? _

Charles, somewhere in the palace, waiting, unable to contact Erik, or even Jean. He must be so lonely and hopeless, perhaps hungry and hurt too. Who knows what they did to him. Perhaps they locked him away in a place without any human contact, put a helmet on his head to stop him from contacting anyone outside—it would be only prudent of Shaw to keep Charles isolated at the very least, if he hasn't—

No. Charles is alive. And Erik needs to find him before he gets seriously hurt. And if he's already been hurt—Erik swears to himself Shaw is going to wish he'd never been born. 

_ Erik? _ Jean’s telepathic voice is tentative.

He tries to pull himself together. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. There’s no use contemplating hurtful possibilities if they might not even be true. He needs to stay focused, do everything in his power to ensure their mission is going to be successful. It’s all he can do.

_ You know, I’ve been thinking, _ Jean goes on.  _ Our biggest problem is people’s reluctance. _

_ What do you mean? _

_ I mean, I can tell that a lot of people don’t like Shaw, or don’t really trust him, but still I don’t think they’d join us in trying to defeat him, because whatever they may feel isn’t strong enough, and he’s still the Emperor. There are thousands of people working in the palace who aren’t happy he’s there, but still they’d fight us and not him, because their sense of duty overweighs their dislike of him. _

Erik frowns, though obviously she can’t see it in the semi darkness. _ What are you suggesting? _

_ I’m saying that it would help if people got an actual idea of what he’s capable of, his cruelty and ruthlessness.  _ She hesitates. _ Erik, I know that Shaw did something to you—something terrible. _

Erik stills, cold dread settling over him. He can’t deal with that now, not when he’s already battling horrors of the present.

_ You’ve been reading my mind, _ he states dully. 

He can’t say he’s angry—he knows from what Charles told him that reading certain thoughts is just a natural way of assessing another person for a telepath—just like sensing the metal around him is for Erik, but nevertheless it makes him feel uneasy and vulnerable. The only person he ever shared that memory with was Charles, and it was his own decision to do so then.

However, Jean quickly says,  _ Only the surface. I didn’t go deeper because...well...I could sense that it was very personal. I mean, theoretically could just pluck the memory from your mind, but I won’t. I’m asking you to share it with me willingly. I want to truly understand Shaw’s real nature, because he’s a blank canvas to me—to all of us. _

Erik swallows, but doesn’t reply. He doesn’t like where this is going, not even a bit.

_ I think it would be very helpful if you’d allow me to take it and show it to the others too,  _ she continues carefully. _ And everyone else I can reach. You wouldn’t have to do anything, just give me permission to look for it, and I’d do the rest. _

Erik can only stare into the darkness, at her silhouette. He can hardly believe that this is really happening.

_ You want me...to share those memories with people I don’t even know? _ he asks after a moment, the words sounding absurd even in his own brain. She can’t possibly mean that, she can’t possibly be asking him to—

_ Yes, I think that could give us a real advantage, _ she replies softly.  _ As I said, there are people who don’t like or don’t trust Shaw already, but they aren’t invested emotionally in the fight against him. You could sway them. You could swing this for us. And I’m also talking about the time after we finished him, _ she adds in response to him shaking his head.  _ Will they attack us for bringing down the Emperor, or will they see that we did the right thing? It all depends on how people feel about Shaw. You could make a real difference. _

_ And how exactly would that work?  _ Erik almost snaps at her, his nerves on edge.  _ Do you honestly think people would trust a thought that some telepath inserted into their brain? Or are you planning to manipulate thousands of minds into thinking they saw this themselves? _

_No,_ Jean says calmly. _That’s impossible. I can only make them see it. Most are sleeping, so they’ll probably dream about it, though it’ll be a much more realistic dream than any normal one—more like...a vision if you will. Then there are a few who are still awake—guards mostly._ _They’ll be aware that the memory came from a telepath. And you’re right,_ she adds. _Some people won’t trust it, but others will, and the images and emotions will affect them deeply._

She’s serious, Erik realises. She’s dead serious about doing this.

_ I don’t— _ His mind is a mess. Nothing makes sense. _ I can’t— _

There’s a reassuring wave of warmth—much like those Charles used to send him, but also completely different.

_ I know this is hard, Erik, _ Jean says gently.  _ But it’s important. Apart from all the people it might convince not to oppose us, you need to understand that everyone in this clearing—Moira, Storm, and all the others—are ready to fight Shaw alongside you, simply because they take your word that he’s not a good man. They don’t feel your urgency and panic because they don’t really know what he’s like, or capable of. I could show them. With your consent I could make them feel what you felt, see what you saw, and make them truly understand what is at stake. It would only strengthen their resolution, and ultimately make us more likely to succeed.  _ She pauses.  _ It will help us save Charles, Erik. _

It’s a calculated blow, of course it is, but nevertheless Erik can’t help responding just as she must have thought he would. His hands clench into fists, and his heart begins beating more rapidly. Everything she said whirls through his mind, picked apart quickly, his brain desperate to find a lie in what she said, but there is none. She’s absolutely right. People knowing what Shaw is capable of will make them more likely to oppose him, and less likely to believe him.

And if that helps them save Charles...how could Erik refuse?

_ Alright, _ Erik says before he can change his mind again.  _ Do it. _

It’s almost as though he can see her smile at him in the darkness, with something like pride on her face—a perfect illusion created by her telepathy.

Her extracting the memory is quicker and less painful than he expected. He feels her presence, so very different from Charles’, but only for a moment, and she’s gone again.

_ Got it, _ she informs him.  _ That was incredibly brave of you, Erik. I’ll share it now. Do you want to see it too? _

_ No, _ is all Erik can reply.

He’s glad he can’t see the others’ faces in the darkness, but nevertheless he can sense the moment when the others all see what he hopes never to have to see or feel again. The sound of their breathing changes for one, and the atmosphere becomes more tense. There are sharp intakes of breath every once in a while. Rose sobs quietly not far from where he’s sitting.

“Fucking bastard,” Erik hears Sean mumble almost inaudibly.

Erik closes his eyes, trying to think of something else, so as not to have to wonder what part of his most personal memory the others are viewing at the moment.

Charles comes to his mind at once. Charles’ beautiful face, his red lips and blue eyes, the freckles on his nose. A warm smile playing around Charles’ lips as he regards Erik’s face right in front of him on the pillow (a bed! They’re in their shared bed on the Siren), a gentle finger stroking along the stubble on Erik’s cheek.

They’ve spent so much time just lying in bed together, looking at one another, touching each other, and yet it wasn’t nearly enough. Even the thought of Charles  _ there, _ in front of him, near enough to touch and kiss, has Erik’s chest constricting again. What he would give to be able to have another moment like this, just to look at Charles, tenderly cupping his face with his hands, their eyes fixed on each other.

Erik can’t have lost that, he can’t. It’s all he ever had, since the death of his parents, that made life worth living, and they’ve dreamt of so much more, of building a school together, a home, not only for them, but for so many more lost and rejected children. They can’t have lost all that.

As Erik opens his eyes again, the silence in the forest clearing is absolute. Jean’s projection of Erik’s most painful memory is clearly over, and now they’re all lost in thought as it appears. 

If only it wasn’t pointless, if only Jean is right and it helps them save Charles.

And yet, they’re still here, still not doing anything, because even though sharing the memory may have helped them make some allies it still hasn’t solved their problems or dissolved their fears that are holding them back from entering the palace, defeating Shaw, and looking for Charles.

How much longer will it take until they're finally ready to act? One day? Two? It’s too long, everything other than right now is too long. Every second they’re not fighting is a second wasted, a second in which Charles is in Shaw’s clutches—a man who is capable of anything. 

What if Charles is ill? Or hungry? Or (Erik's heart squeezes painfully at the thought) being tortured? 

“I’ll go on my own if we don’t find a solution everyone is happy with,” Erik mutters, his heart hammering more forcefully again at the thought of Charles alone, locked up in some dark place without Erik by his side. “I’ll go tonight if I must. I can’t wait any longer. Charles—”

There’s rustling all around him as clearly his fellows are sitting up at the sound of his voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Erik,” Moira says nervously. “What good would that do? They’d kill you before you could even get close to the palace.”

“Well, I’m not waiting until it’s too late,” Erik snaps at her. “You’re right. It’s mad, and it probably won’t work—but it might not work even if we all go together. And I’m not waiting until you’ve found a fail-safe plan that doesn’t exist, when—”

“Shut up,” Jean whispers suddenly.

“What?” Erik asks angrily, hurt by her of all people stabbing him the back. “You’re not going to stop me, neither of you. I’m—”

“Be quiet, Erik,” Jean whispers, more urgently this time. “There are people close by.”

That does shut him up. All of them remain frozen where they are, staring at what they can see of Jean’s silhouette, while she slowly moves a finger to her own temple—something Erik has witnessed Charles do, when he tries to focus especially hard on a telepathic target.

Erik carefully stretches out a hand, sensing further than the metal on his companions’ clothes until he finds several belts, watches, and shoes nearby, but no weapons, though that doesn’t necessarily mean anything—he’s seen guns made of some kind of synthetic material before. There are about ten people, probably men, judging by the shapes of the metal clasps on their belts and the height at which those are worn.

_ Well done, Erik, _ Jean says in his head.  _ My estimation too. _

“Hello?” Jean calls into the darkness, making several of their fellows jerk at the sound. “Show yourselves. We’re not going to attack you.”

“What are you doing?” Rogue whispers nervously.

“Just wait,” Jean whispers back. “Don’t worry.”

A small light appears somewhere between the trees, more sounds reaching their ears.

Erik was right. The approaching people are indeed young men as far as he can tell by the light coming from a beacon in one of the men’s hand, and there are about ten of them. They’ve all got their hands in the air in a gesture of surrender, the light from the beacon in their hands illuminating rather nervous faces at the sight of a group of several hundred people in the clearing, some of them looking ready to attack them.

The flickering light makes it hard to recognise any of them, but nevertheless Erik can’t help but think that at least two of them seem vaguely familiar.

“Darwin?” he asks, astonished, as the realisation hits him. “Alex?”

“Max!” Alex exclaims, sounding not only pleased, but positively excited. “Or is it Erik? They’re saying your real name is Erik now.”

“It is,” Erik confirms, the tenseness leaving his body almost at once. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, we were hoping to find you actually,” Darwin explains in his calm voice. “Not you specifically,” he adds in response to Erik’s raised eyebrows. “The rebels. If you’re still ready to fight Shaw like you did Marko that is.”

“How did you find us?” Moira asks sharply.

Darwin shrugs. “There was talk that lots of people came into the city from the forest right before the annual address, so we thought we’d try our luck. We’re all mutants who worked for the Emperor,” he adds in explanation to the many questioning looks. “We know what Shaw is like, and we know parts of his story don’t add up. Well—and we know that he lied about Max—Erik, I mean. And then we all saw the memory, and...We don’t believe him, and we think him being in charge is, well....We’re ready to join you —and I’m sure many more are too, as soon as there’s a fight . We’ve been looking for hours and hours. We thought we might not find anybody. Wow, there’s a lot of you,” he adds, craning his neck to see exactly how many more people are hiding in the shadows. “Rumour was there were thousands of you.”

“There were,” Moira sighs. “Not anymore though. Most of them decided to trust Shaw rather than fight him. We’re the only ones left.”

Alex curses under his breath, a few of the others shake their heads.

“Did the memory come from you?” Darwin asks. “The one we just saw? Of Shaw having all those people murdered?”

“That came from me,” Jean pipes up. “Well, indirectly anyway.”

Darwin raises his eyebrows. “You’re a telepath?” he asks, apparently impressed. “That could be of some use.”

“Do you know where Charles is?” Erik interrupts him, his heart beating forcefully in his throat.

“Charles? You mean the Crown Prince? So he’s not with you?” Darwin asks, making Erik’s heart plummet again like a heavy stone. “We expected him to be with you. Fucking hell, did Shaw make him disappear then? Or kill him?”

Erik doesn’t answer. He can’t. He can’t think about it, about the possibilities, his greatest fears. Not right now. He needs to stay focused. Think positive.

“So you just walked away?” he asks instead, attempting to swallow the uncomfortable lump in his throat away. “Are you sure nobody followed you?”

“Positive,” Darwin nods. “It’s absolute chaos in the shipyard and the palace too. Nobody knows what to believe, people are sceptical—though Shaw and his men try hard to hide all that from the public. It’s mayhem. If we attack, I’d say we should do it as soon as possible, while they’re still struggling with problems inside the palace and fleet.”

“Jean?” asks Moira, still sounding rather tense.

“All good,” Jean replies at once. “They’re telling the truth.”

“Of course we are,” Alex says, sounding almost offended.

“Where are the rebels who joined Shaw?” Darwin asks with a frown, ignoring Alex. “I didn’t hear of any arriving at the palace.” 

“Still on their way,” Erik replies. “It’ll take them about three days to get here.”

Darwin’s frown deepens. “But how—?”

“I can create portals,” Blink pipes up. “I brought us all here.”

Alex laughs. “Well, looks like we hit the jackpot. Can’t you just transport us to where Shaw is, so we can stab him or something?”

The newcomers bring a lightness to the group—actually making them laugh for the first time since their disastrous first attempt at defeating the Emperor—that they didn’t even know they were missing. Erik’s restlessness doesn’t disappear entirely, and the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach doesn’t go away, but at least his hope that they’ll get themselves together and ready to act within the next day reawakens with the arrival of Alex, Darwin, and their fellows, including Alex’s younger brother, Scott.

Of course, stabbing Shaw won’t actually be as easy as Alex made it sound. They can get close to him through a portal, yes, and they can attack, but judging from what they saw in the arena, they won’t be able to hurt Shaw at all as long as he’s in possession of his powers. It might even be unwise to try judging by the way Shaw seemed to absorb the blows and use the energy to demolish the whole arena, killing several people. It’ll be a difficult job, forcing the helmet off of Shaw’s head to allow Jean access to the man’s mind without giving him the chance to kill them all with a single blow.

Nevertheless their chances are growing what with former palace workers with inside knowledge of the building having joined them. People who understand the necessity to act as quickly as possible. Tomorrow is the day. Whatever they’ll decide to do, they’ll do something, and perhaps any of what they’ve discussed so far will be enough, perhaps Erik sharing his memory will truly have swayed people, perhaps it will help them defeat Shaw, and find Charles, before anything bad has happened to him. Please.

_ Please let me find Charles healthy and whole, _ Erik keeps repeating desperately in his mind.  _ It’s all I want. Please. I need him. _

Perhaps tomorrow night Charles will be back in Erik’s arms, perhaps they won’t let go of each other for hours, kissing and touching, crying and laughing. Perhaps everything will be alright tomorrow night.

_ I’m coming, Charles,  _ Erik thinks once they’ve all fallen silent again, laying back on the dirty forest ground, his head cushioned on a pillow of moss. _ I’m almost there. Stay strong, just for a few more hours. I promise, I’ll do everything to find you. _

_ I love you. _


	22. 2.7 Charles

The next day feels more like a week.

Since it’s dark, and they took Charles’ watch, he has no way of telling the time, only waiting for the moment when his calves start tingling again, telling him it must have been about twenty-four hours since his last dose of serum, though it already feels ten times as long.

Nobody turns up in the dungeons, except Azazel, who appears out of nowhere twice to bring Charles food and water, empty his bucket, and replace the beacon down the corridor for a new one. 

One small mercy at least, that he’s not left in complete darkness.

Charles gives up trying to get Azazel to talk to him pretty quickly, after the man doesn’t even spare him one glance the first time he appears, even though Charles pulls out all the stops to engage him in conversation. However hard Charles tries though, the man’s face remains as expressionless as ever, and not a single word leaves his mouth.

Nevertheless Charles can’t help being glad to see the teleporter whenever he arrives in a puff of red smoke. Any face, even the gruff, expressionless red one is a welcome distraction from the lonely darkness and cold of his prison. For about five minutes the red mutant is busy doing one thing or another around the cell and corridor, and then he disappears again without having acknowledged Charles’ presence even once, in another puff of red smoke, making the silence appear even more complete.

To distract himself from the pain in his ribs, and head, and all over his body, and to stop himself from going completely crazy (because that’s all he can do at this point) Charles spends most of his time with his eyes closed, imagining himself in a different place, dreaming about the school he and Erik wanted to open, imagining their everyday life, their students, lessons, and the house in great detail. He has so much time that he can go through an entire day from morning to evening, dreaming up conversations, discussions, and even complete meals, though those images make his mouth water, and stomach growl so much he keeps them to a minimum in detail.

Sometimes Charles allows himself to imagine those moments after everyone has gone to bed, when he and Erik would retire to their room, and lie on their large and comfortable bed, Charles’ head on Erik’s chest, breathing in the other man’s scent, the one that Charles can still recall if he tries hard enough. Charles hardly pictures them talking, too immersed in the memory of how Erik’s body feels beneath his hands and cheek, of the sound of the beating of Erik’s heart, the touch of Erik’s fingers carding gently through his hair, their lips brushing against each other.

It tears him apart to visualise all these things, makes his chest constrict, and silent tears run down his cheeks, and yet he can’t stop. 

_ Erik…  _ Charles keeps thinking longingly, wishing there was a way he could hear and feel the man he loves. 

What if he could, if only he had his telepathy back? If Shaw was telling the truth, Erik, too, might be hidden somewhere in the labyrinthine corridors of the dungeons. He might be right underneath Charles —or above him, as there’s no knowing which part of the dungeons Charles is in. But then...wouldn’t Charles have been able to sense him in the moments before Shaw injected him with the serum again? 

Charles has never experienced anything like the pain he felt when his telepathy returned and couldn’t find a mind to latch on to, turning inwards instead, and pressing against the boundaries of his mind as though trying to burst his head into a million a pieces. That couldn’t have happened if there’d been another mind around, even if it had been quite far away, which must mean that the walls truly are as thick and shielding as Charles feared, or that Shaw had him placed in the very deepest part of the dungeons, about a hundred yard beneath the ground floors of the palace, with multiple layers of stone and dirt to separate him from the outside world. Even if Erik’s prison was just a few floors above Charles’, the stone might be too thick to sense him at all, and perhaps they put a helmet on Erik’s head, just in case.

_ If only he’s alright, _ Charles catches himself thinking time and time again, his heart aching at the thought that he might not be.  _ If only they haven’t hurt him. _

He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if Shaw got another chance at causing Erik even more pain, making him suffer another time. The idea is unbearable, and Charles has to force himself to push it to the back of his mind in order to not go absolutely mad with anguish.

Can he believe Shaw that Erik isn’t going to get hurt if he cooperates? What if he hurts Erik anyway? Shaw is a sick bastard after all, his enjoyment at watching Charles’ suffering proves as much...

 

The second time that Shaw enters Charles’ cell the serum’s effect hasn’t begun wearing off yet.

He unlocks the cell door with a satisfied smile on his lips and strolls inside, locking the door behind himself again, placing a bag next to the door, and looking around the cold and dark place as though viewing a property he considers buying.

“Enjoying your stay?” he asks softly after a moment, still not looking at Charles sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the room.

Charles doesn’t say anything, watching Shaw warily, his heart already hammering in his throat at the sight of the man.

“You know you should be more polite if you want your boyfriend to remain in one piece,” Shaw says casually, examining the door lock as if he’s never seen anything like it. “He might not survive for very long if you keep ignoring me.”

Charles swallows, closing his eyes. Just what he feared.

“So...are you enjoying your stay so far,  _ your Majesty?”  _ Shaw repeats in an almost cheerful tone.

Charles hesitates. “No...sir.”

Shaw turns around to look at him for the first time, a satisfied smile playing around his lips. For a moment his expression is unreadable, then he begins to laugh, and doesn’t stop. It’s unnerving, seeing him throw his head back like that, and just...laughing as though somebody had just told him the most amusing story in the world.

It makes the hair on the back of Charles’ neck stand up, and his stomach churn. 

If only he could flee, just run away from this place, from this man who seems capable of absolutely anything. But there’s probably a few hundred feet of stone and soil above him, not to mention the chain around Charles’ ankle, and the fact that Shaw has got Erik, and surely wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if Charles made so much as a false move.

No, there’s no way for Charles to flee.

Shaw wipes a tear out of his eye, still chuckling. “Oh, you are such a joy to be around, little Prince, do you know that?”

Charles can’t help the prickly feeling all over his skin. God, he doesn’t like this, not the language, not the pleased expression on Shaw’s face, not the way he looks at him as though waiting for something, not even a bit. What he’d give to just disappear in a puff of smoke, like Azazel...

“No, sir,” Charles replies, his voice shaking slightly, when Shaw looks at him expectantly.

It makes Shaw laugh again. “It’s surprising, really. I always thought you were an annoying little brat when you were a boy,” he says after a moment, staring dreamily at the wall above Charles’ head. “Spoilt, and unaware of your privilege...I thought you deserved a good whipping, so I agreed with my dear friend Kurt’s treatment of you, showing you the sun didn’t shine out of your backside like your father surely made you believe.” He chuckles again. “I guess it made some difference, but clearly not enough. Now I’m lucky enough to be the one to get to show you your real place in the world, isn’t that wonderful? And I’m enjoying it so much...”

Charles swallows again, the pain in his ribs flaring up once more, but he doesn’t dare speak. It sounds as though Shaw is building up to something, something big, and cruel, and Charles’ heart is already starting to beat even faster, his stomach twisting violently, making him feel sick and weak.

God, how he hates that feeling. How he hates being at Shaw’s mercy, forced to play the man’s sick little games...

Shaw kneels down before him, until his face is only inches from Charles’. His satisfied smile is sickening. “There’s nothing better than watching someone who used to be in charge of you, and order you around, kneel down and kiss your feet, did you know that?” He’s speaking more quietly now, almost whispering. “I just made your adoptive father do that,” he adds with a smirk more unpleasant than any Charles has ever seen on him before. “He’s not tall, and loud, and arrogant anymore, can you imagine it? He’s tiny—even tinier than you—without his position. Scared and pathetic...He’d do anything I’d ask him to—probably kill his own daughter if I requested it.”

Charles’ heart skips a beat at those words, his stomach already twisted into a tight knot.

_ Not Raven too, _ is all he can think.  _ Please let Raven be alright… _

Shaw chuckles again at the look on his face. “You know, the way I remember you...you hardly used to show any emotions, and now...now your face is an open book. To me at least. What happened to make you so...emotionally vulnerable?”

_ Erik, _ Charles thinks, his teeth clenched.  _ Erik happened. And it felt good and right before you came into the picture. _ But he doesn’t say anything, determined to keep Shaw’s focus off of Erik, though he’s almost sure Shaw knows the answer anyway.

Shaw’s smile grows wider again. “Anyway. Let’s not talk about these things anymore. It’s not why I came here.” He takes a step back, pulling a towel out of the bag near the door, and sitting down on it, facing Charles, the smile still in place. “Did you ever wonder why we chose to drop you and little Erik over Genosha?”

Charles feels a pang of anger and fear at Shaw mentioning Erik’s name, but almost in spite of himself he nods. “Yes, sir,” he mutters.

Even though Charles hates playing along with Shaw’s sick little games he can’t deny that he did ask himself that same questions many times since Moira suggested the planet they landed on might have been Genosha. The image of the mass grave still haunts him, along with the tortured look on Erik’s face as he saw it, and if Moira is right, there are more of those graves all over the planet.

Shaw smirks. “So you’re familiar with the story?”

This time Charles just nods, his throat too tight to speak.

Luckily, Shaw doesn’t seem to mind this one time. “I was there, you know,” he says dreamily. “From the very beginning, from the moment the Emperor received the information about where the rebels were hiding. Weeks of planning followed, top secret of course—we didn’t want them to be warned. All the while I crossed paths with you in the corridors of the palace, and you had no idea. Amazing what you can hide from a telepath if only you wear one of these beauties.” 

He taps the heavy helmet on his head, still smirking. 

“They had a telegraph in every single village, you know,” Shaw continues, chuckling. “They were there to keep in contact with their own ships, and to receive warning if somebody else approached, so they could hide away in the forest.” He laughs out loud. “They didn’t take account of the fact that the transceivers on our ships were much more sensitive. We caught their signal long before they caught ours, so, as soon as we’d established all their positions, we simply turned off our radio systems.”

He shakes his head, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Instead of warning them, their signal led us right to them. We dropped our shuttles everywhere over the planet, all at the same time, and took them completely by surprise. Did you know that we had a first version of the serum even then?” he adds as though suddenly remembering something. “No? I’m sure you were told it was a completely new invention.” He smirks. “Well, it wasn’t. Young Hank McCoy had been working on the serum for years when he discovered the useful side effect, which so conveniently convinced you to take it, and voluntarily inhibit your vexatious mutation.” 

He laughs unpleasantly.

“It was brand new when we left the Earth for Genosha all those years ago. Untested, of course, but what better opportunity to test it than on a bunch of mutant rebels? And it worked—on most of them at least. It didn’t work for some, so we shot them on the spot, but on the rest...the serum worked just beautifully. A huge success, one that my dear friend Kurt was very pleased with. I don’t think the young doctor ever found out to what use we put his invention. I doubt he’d have liked the idea much.”

Shaw sighs contentedly.

“They screamed when we ambushed them,” he says casually. “The rebels, I mean. They struggled, and cried, and fought, but there was nothing they could do. They were barely armed, their mutations were gone, and most of them were either old or sick. Or children—about half of them were children, I’d say. We had them dig large holes in the forest ground, and then line up in front of them, waiting for their turn to die…”

Shaw pauses, staring at a spot right above Charles’ head.

Charles’ fists are clenched so tightly his knuckles have turned white. His heart is still racing, his stomach still churning at the thought of all those people, scared and powerless—and children too…children watching their mothers die right before their eyes, knowing it would be their turn next, mothers trying to comfort their little ones, even though they knew their situation was hopeless...

What kind of monster could bring themselves to do all this to _ children? _

“You know,” Shaw adds thoughtfully after a moment. “I wasn’t actually a supporter of having all these people killed—so much mutant blood, wasted. But obviously I couldn’t really resist or I’d draw attention to myself, and my own mutation, which your dear adoptive father knew nothing about. Did I feel bad about it?” he adds, staring right into Charles’ eyes, his expression inscrutable. “Not a bit. They were inconvenient in their criticism and opposition, and the children would have grown up to become rebels, so ultimately it didn’t hurt to get rid of them. That’s what defines a strong leader, little Prince—thinking rationally, and not letting emotions get in the way of your thinking. Though it was a pity nevertheless.”

Shaw sighs, though it doesn’t sound genuine in the slightest.

“I oversaw the killings,” he continues in a casual tone. “Not the first time I had a number of people executed, as I’m sure you already know—you’ve spoken to Erik Lehnsherr after all.”

Charles’ chest constricts once more, his heart aching for Erik, for all his pain, and his anger surging in light of the matter-of-fact way Shaw speaks about the execution of his parents and so many others.

Erik is right. Shaw is not just a bad man, he’s a fucking monster.

_ Oh Erik... _

“Have you ever witnessed a mass execution?” Shaw asks, eyeing Charles curiously.

“No, sir,” Charles croaks, yearning for Shaw to just stop and disappear, because he doesn’t need to hear and imagine those horrors from Shaw’s perspective. He doesn’t need more pain to carry—not here, not now, and he definitely doesn’t need to hear it from Shaw’s sneering lips.

“Pity…” Shaw responds softly. “It’s a real test of character. Weak people will avert their eyes, won’t be able to stand the pain and suffering. True strong leaders will stand and watch, entirely unaffected. Which would you be? Would you cry like them, collapse at the sight, or stand upright and keep a straight face?” Shaw’s lip curls. “You can learn so much about the human psyche by watching people who know they’re about to die. Their eyes become so much larger, and they begin to shake, you know, some piss themselves. It’s very interesting…”

Charles stares at his feet, trying to fill his own head with noise, so as not to have to listen to Shaw’s words anymore. 

The lullaby Erik sang to him that one night—what was it called? And what were the words? The beautiful, calm melody? If only he could remember—

“So much expression in every face of those waiting in line to get shot,” Shaw continues in a dreamy voice. “You never get as many emotions in one face than right before that person dies. Anger, pain for their loved ones, and fear, oh so much fear. And then—” He snaps his fingers. “Gone. Just like that. Nothing at all left. Their faces are blank as they fall to the ground. It never fails to fascinate me.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“I thought I’d told you to keep looking at me while I speak,” Shaw says in a dangerously low voice.

Charles lifts his head again, revealing his red eyes, the tears running down his cheek. His jaw is set, his teeth clenched. He can hardly bear letting Shaw see him like this—vulnerable and weak, terribly affected by the simple retelling of the story—but he just can’t help it. He can’t help feeling all those people’s pain as if it were his own. 

He can’t help caring.

Shaw’s lips curl into a smile again at the expression on Charles’ face. “I’m glad to see I’ve affected you,” he says quietly. “Now do you see how fitting it seemed to bury your dead body in the snow of Genosha like so many others?”

Charles can only stare at him, his teeth clenched so tightly they hurt.

“Granted, a big factor was that Genosha looks so very similar to Atria that we could be sure you wouldn’t get suspicious,” Shaw continues. “But also the idea of your remains so close to those of all those other mutants was—I admit—uplifting. Two more mutants buried on Genosha, among all those killed in your name, though you didn’t know it. That’s what I thought, and I liked the idea.” He chuckles. “In a way it seemed...poetic. Of course—you didn’t die like we planned. Somehow you survived, though I still don’t understand how…” His eyes are back, searching Charles’ face for a clue. “We spotted the remains of the shuttle in the snow from space, and I was sure your remains must be among them—though unrecognisable, torn to the tiniest shreds. What happened to make you survive?” he asks, his voice once again lower, more dangerous. “I know little Erik was capable of controlling metal, but the shuttle got destroyed, so that can’t have been it. Tell, me, my Prince, what didn’t I think of?”

Charles swallows. The last thing he wants is to tell Shaw, to give him any information about Erik that he doesn’t already know, and yet he’s not sure how he’ll get around it without Shaw hurting Erik, or even killing him.

“I...don’t know myself,” Charles tries, but he can already tell by the way Shaw raises his eyebrows that he doesn’t believe him.

An evil smile on his lips, Shaw gets up from the floor and walks the few steps over to where Charles is sitting, his eyes fixed on Charles’ face all the while.

Charles can’t move, his hands trembling. There’s no way for him to escape, the chain keeping him in place, the door of the cell locked.

Before he can pull his arms up to shield himself, Shaw’s fingers have closed around Charles’ throat, pressing him against the cold wall, choking him.

“I thought we’d established that I want nothing but the truth from you,  _ your Majesty,” _ Shaw whispers, his face inches from Charles’, while Charles gasps and chokes in a panic, his fingers uselessly, weakly grasping at Shaw’s hand tightening around his throat, threatening to break his windpipe. “And don’t believe even for a second that I’ll hesitate to do the same to your boyfriend later—though perhaps then I won’t let go.”

The blood is pounding in Charles’ head as he gasps for breath, which just won’t come. His heart is racing frantically, uselessly trying to pump oxygen through his arteries, while his neck and throat hurt like hell as they’re being crushed, black dots starting to appear before his eyes...

_ Erik… _ is all he can think.  _ Please, Erik… _

It stops as suddenly as it started.

Charles slumps to the floor, wheezing and gasping for air, his hands massaging his aching neck and throat, while his heart keeps hammering away through the stinging pain in his chest, as the room comes slowly back into focus, and so do Shaw’s shoes right before his eyes. 

For a moment he thought that was it. He was sure that he was going to die for just a fraction of a second.

If only he had.

Charles’ head gets knocked painfully against the wall, a pain as though his head was being split open, as Shaw forcefully shoves him back into a sitting position.

“I’m waiting,” he growls. “Tell me the truth. What saved you?”

Charles’ throat aches so badly, he’s unsure he’ll ever be able to properly speak again, or breathe. “Erik’s mutation,” he chokes, his voice almost inaudible. He hates himself for telling Shaw the truth, but the image of Erik being pushed against the wall like him, of Erik being choked until he faints—or worse—just won’t go away. He has to protect Erik. Whatever it costs. “Magnetic fields…”

As soon as Shaw’s hand withdraws, Charles slumps to the floor again, unable to keep himself upright. He only dimly registers Shaw walking back towards the door and sitting down again. It’s as though all strength Charles has left is needed to keep him alive and breathing, every single gasp the hardest work he’s ever done, the pain in his neck and head throbbing and hardly bearable.

“Interesting…” Charles hears Shaw’s voice, as though from miles away. “Very interesting…”

It’s silent for a while, apart from Charles’ rasping breaths echoing from the stone walls. It takes a few minutes for the ache in his head and neck to let up somewhat, and for his breathing to calm down at least a bit. Charles’ throat still feels thick and swollen, and he keeps trying to swallow the tightness away, but to no avail.

Once his arms no longer shake as badly, and his heart isn’t beating as frantically anymore, Charles dares sit up again, only to find Shaw still sitting in front of the cell door, watching him with interest. Charles closes his eyes again, so as not to have to see the other man’s face anymore.

He doesn’t know for how long he’ll be able to stand this. Will Shaw come to torment him every fucking day? What is he waiting for now? Or what other horrors has he planned? Charles doesn’t think he can take any more, he’s already so fucking exhausted that all he wants is to curl up on the floor and sleep, sleep until this nightmare is over again.

If only Shaw doesn’t hurt him anymore...

Shaw, however, neither does nor says anything, but whenever Charles opens his eyes for a moment, he can still see the man’s eyes on him, the expectant, almost eager look on his face, the slight smile playing around his lips.

_ What the hell is he waiting for?  _ Charles can’t stop asking himself. Is this some kind of game? Is he enjoying Charles’ anguish and fear, and his obvious pain? What is he building up to? What could be worse than what he’s already done to him?

And then the tingling sensation in Charles’ calves emerges again, making him flinch in spite of himself, and grab his legs at the first sting.

Shaw straightens up. “Is it starting?” he whispers.

Charles doesn’t reply, but his heart rate picks up again at the eager look on Shaw’s face. 

Charles isn’t sure he’s ever truly hated anyone in his life, but Shaw is getting close. His indifference to senseless killings, his hunger for power, and his joy at other people’s pain and humiliation make Charles’ stomach turn over, and his blood pound in his head. How can such a person exist? How can he live with himself? 

Is this the sort of strength that Kurt always talked about and valued? Because if it is, Charles doesn’t want it. If being strong means becoming a monster like the man right in front of him, he’d rather be weak. He’d rather cry at others’ pain and suffering, he’d rather ask for help and offer a helping hand in return than turn a cold shoulder, or stand by and watch as people, humans and mutants alike, are being tortured and killed.

He’ll never be like Shaw, and if that means being considered weak, so be it. He won’t give in and act as though stories of murdered children don’t break his heart. He won’t stop caring. Whatever happens, he won’t break. He won’t be like Shaw or Kurt. Not ever. Not even if it kills him.

Perhaps that can be his own strength, the thing that separates him from Kurt and Shaw, and from their helpers and associates. He’s not just enduring Shaw’s violence and humiliation for himself, but for others’ sake too. Erik, most of all people, but also Raven, Logan, Rose, Moira, and so many others. Because he loves them, something Shaw isn’t able to do.

Charles’s heart swells at those thoughts, almost drowning out the growing pain in his legs and lower back.

He can get through this. However bad the pain, however terrible the anguish, he’ll remain true to himself. They can take his telepathy, break his body, but they’ll never destroy his empathy, and his ability to love.

_ I love you, Erik. _

It’s those words that Charles’ mind clings onto as the stinging turns to fire once again, and Shaw doesn’t make any attempt to relieve Charles of his pain with the serum he must be keeping in the bag he dropped next to the door. 

He came to watch the spectacle first hand, Charles has no illusions about that anymore, and he won’t do anything about it before he doesn’t deem it necessary—whenever that may be.

Charles manages not to cry as the pain in his back and legs gets even worse, adding to his already aching head and throat, but he slumps to the cold floor again, his hands grasping uselessly at his thighs, which tingle, sting, and burn all at once.

It’s not as big of a surprise as the terrible headache starts again, but nevertheless Charles can’t help arching his back at the ongoing scream echoing on his mind, the pressure mounting, his vision going white once more, while his ears keep pounding away. He’s not sure whether the sound, the terrible screeching noise, is only in his head, or whether it’s reverberating off the dungeon walls, too, escaping his own aching throat, _ anything  _ to release some of the pressure on his mind and body. 

Charles is a prisoner in his own mind, and his mind is torturing him, trying to break him, to annihilate him, and nothing is real anymore, except the racking pain, the needles in his skin, the fire in his mind and back, the yells, and the panic.

Why hasn’t his head burst yet from the pressure? Why can’t he just die? Why can’t it finally be over? Why can’t he be released from all this agony, from the pressure that’s killing him, but not quite, not enough…

Dimly, Charles registers Shaw approaching his side, something being tightly twined around his left arm.

_ Almost over, _ Charles repeats in his own aching head, relief spreading through him. _ It’s almost over. _

The sting of the needle barely registers beneath all the other pain, but the coolness of the liquid running through his veins is a welcome sensation, one he’s been longing for desperately.

_ Just a few more moments, not much longer, and— _

Nothing changes. The pressure doesn’t let up, the screaming doesn’t fade away, the racking pain neither intensifies nor diminishes, and Charles’ vision doesn’t return.

A cold dread settles in the pit of his stomach.

It’s broken. Why doesn’t the pain stop? Why won’t he—

And then, all of a sudden, a number of distinct and clear thoughts emerge in Charles’ tortured brain.

_ The serum is not working. Use it. Act as though it had. Trick Shaw. _

Charles closes his eyes against the whiteness burning them. He registers his own screaming and forces himself to be silent, biting his tongue until he tastes blood. Through the crushing pressure and pain, Charles manages to bury his face into the cold stone of the floor, so as not to let Shaw see his agonised face, loosening the grip of his fingers where they were grasping his thighs.

_ Just appear exhausted, _ Charles repeats over and over, trying to be louder than the screaming, more salient than the ache inside him.  _ Appear as though he’s worn you out. Stay where you are, don’t scream, don’t flinch. Pray that he’ll leave you alone. _

For the first time Charles fights tooth and nail against his mind prison, desperate to hear what is going on, to register Shaw’s voice, because breaking through the mental barrier of his helmet won’t be possible.

Charles almost flinches as a cold hand touches his neck, but manages to control himself just in time, while the screaming, pain, and pressure flare up again inside, momentarily breaking his focus, until he battles them down again as much as he can.

“Did I break you?” he hears Shaw whispering softly in his ear, registers the man’s warm breath on the skin of his neck.

Charles can only just stop himself from drawing away, or yelping in surprise and repugnance, or fucking screaming in agony as the pain flares up once more. 

_ Stay still, _ he keeps telling himself, over and over again, in his head, desperately trying and failing to blank out the pressure and pain.  _ Appear completely exhausted, or he’ll get suspicious. _

Shaw’s little laugh registers mostly as hot air on Charles’ skin. “Beautiful…”

Once again, Charles can barely suppress a reaction as Shaw’s hand softly trails down his back, before it thankfully retreats.

“See you tomorrow, little Prince.”

The rustling sound of Shaw’s clothes, and the creaking of the cell door are the most welcome sounds Charles has ever heard. As Shaw’s retreating footsteps echo through the cell, reverberating strongly in Charles’ aching mind, and finally disappear completely, Charles finally allows his hands to clench into fists again, and a pained gasp to escape his sore throat.

Through all the torture Charles’ mind and body are putting him through, a thought nevertheless reaches him, however dimly.

This is it. He’s getting his telepathy back.


	23. 2.8 Erik

The night is short, but Erik is so hyped up he wouldn’t have found much rest anyway.

They spend the morning and early afternoon working on a plan again, or rather—repeating the few possibilities they have over and over again without being able to come to a mutual agreement for a long time.

It drives Erik mad, impatience, anger, and panic almost overwhelming him several times. He only just manages not to take his frustration out on anyone, but he gets damn close several times.

When Storm finally shouts down protests against her preferred course of action (just storming the palace without bothering to stay hidden and hoping for the best) it’s already way past noon, but nevertheless Erik is relieved for a tiny moment, hopeful that finally something is going to happen. It’s his preferred plan anyway, not dividing into groups, crouching in secret rooms, and waiting another few hours for the lucky coincidence of Shaw passing by, so they can attack, but just getting in there all at once, and finally doing something, their powers against Shaw’s army. Strength and speed instead of half-arsed tactics depending on so many factors. It feels good to finally know what they’ll be doing.

Until Jean fails to locate Shaw within the palace that is.

“Where the fuck is he?” she keeps mumbling under her breath, her face frantic, a finger pressed to her temple. “How is it fucking possible that  _ nobody _ has seen him for hours?”

Of course she can’t locate Shaw’s mind what with him wearing a helmet, but nevertheless she should be able to find him through the minds of servants working in the palace. Only he seems to have vanished off of the face of the Earth—or at least the palace.

“Maybe he’s left,” Rogue says with concern on her face.

Jean shakes her head. “Somebody would know where he’s gone. He’s the goddamn Emperor for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, he has a teleporter working for him,” Storm chimes in. “So he might be anywhere, right?”

“His teleporter is in the palace though. Lots of people have seen him.”

“What if he dropped him off somewhere though?”

Erik doesn’t join in with the conversation. The whole situation is making his skin crawl again, and his heart beat almost painfully in his throat. He can hardly stand just sitting around waiting anymore, after all those hours doing just that. It’s been too long already since Charles was taken. Every heartbeat feels like another moment lost, another moment that could make the difference between success and failure, between life and death for Charles. With every thump of Erik’s heart all Erik can think about is the fact that they’re giving Shaw another opportunity to hurt Charles, and he can barely stop himself from lashing out, from yelling at the others to finally  _ do something,  _ though he knows deep inside that at the moment all they can do is wait really. Again. For the millionth fucking time, because there’s no rescuing Charles before eliminating Shaw first. As infuriating as that realisation is, it nevertheless keeps Erik from losing his head entirely.

Only the image won’t disappear. The image of Charles in a dirty, dark, and cold place, lying on the ground, shivering, whimpering, all alone, having lost all hope that Erik is ever going to come looking for him.

Once Erik notices the tiny drops of blood dripping from his arms where his fingernails are digging deep into the skin he forces himself to relax, like so many fucking thousand times before, dropping his hands to his sides.

_ Stay focused, _ he tells himself.  _ Stay fucking focused, it’s the only chance you have. The only chance Charles has. Get yourself together, for fuck’s sake. _

But the longer they wait for Shaw to reappear the harder it gets. Instead of disappearing the image becomes more detailed, injuries and bruises all over Charles’ body, no food, no water, Charles in excruciating pain because they sure as hell didn’t provide him with his medication—that is if they didn’t kill him already.

And Erik shakes his head for the thousandth time, trying to clear his mind, because he can’t think like that, because he needs to make himself believe that Charles is still alive, or how in the fucking universe should he ever find the strength to fight? And that’s what he has to do. It’s all that fucking matters.

And then Shaw appears in Erik’s thoughts, Shaw who bends over Charles on the floor, sneering, ruffling his hair, like he did to Erik that day his parents died, punching Charles in the face, putting his hands around his neck—

“Fuck,” Erik grits out, his fists clenched so tightly he can hardly feel them anymore. “Fuck, Jean. What if you not finding Shaw means that he’s with Charles?”

The look in her eyes is enough to tell him she’s been thinking the same thing.

“Fuck!” Erik yells again.  _ “Fuck!” _

Nobody says anything. Fucking clever of them too, because Erik is only just managing to contain his panic, his anger, and frustration. How good it would feel to take it out on anyone.

If only they knew where Charles was, if only they knew where  _ Shaw _ was. If only they could fucking act already, and not just  _ wait. _ He’s so  _ sick _ of waiting. It’s fucking killing him.

Erik stomps out of the clearing and into the forest, before he can do anything he’ll regret later, running until he’s far out of earshot or sight of anyone else before sinking down onto a tree stump and hugging his arms around his body.

_ Focus, _ he tells himself again, like so many times before.  _ Don’t lose your head. Fucking focus. For Charles. It’s all you can do right now. Do it for Charles. Focus. _

But it’s not so easy what with the thoughts and images whirling around his head, always present but mostly held in check for the last days. Whenever Erik closes his eyes Charles’ face is there, either pale, blank and expressionless, or screwed up in pain, whispering Erik’s name. Erik pops them open again, trying to focus on a bird, or some insect.

It doesn’t work. Even if he’s not seeing Charles’ face, he can’t blank out the imaginary cries of pain, the sound of Charles’ voice desperately whispering his name, or of Shaw’s sneering voice and laughter. Erik soon finds his fingernails digging into the skin on his arms again, but this time he doesn’t even try to stop himself. 

He fights hard against the tears, against the desire to just jump up and beat someone to a pulp, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from screaming in desperation or breaking down sobbing.

Charles...oh god, Charles…

Erik tries to refocus his thoughts, to think about good things, about everything that is still possible as long as he finds Charles alive. Pondering on how much Charles may be suffering isn’t helpful, it hurts, almost fucking kills him it hurts so bad, and it’ll only stop Erik from keeping his focus. But thinking of the moment when they’ll finally be reunited...

When Erik finally sees Charles again, he’ll hold on to him tightly, and won’t let go for a long time, maybe hours. He’ll inhale Charles’ scent, bury his nose in his lover’s hair, and allow all the tension of those last terrible days to seep out of himself, for everything will be alright if only he and Charles can be together again.

They’ll take care of each other’s wounds, physical and emotional, share what they’ve been through while they were separated, listen, and cry, and hold each other, until they’re ready to move on—which they will. Their future will be bright. Everything they’ve dreamt of will come true. Charles will be a teacher, they’ll build a school for young mutants just as Charles suggested, and Erik will be by his side. Always.

Is it likely that this future will happen? Perhaps not, but Erik knows he will do anything in his power to make it reality—he already has. Sharing his most personal, most painful memory with Jean for one, was something he’d never before thought he’d do, and yet he allowed her to use it as a means of making people see Shaw’s real nature.

If only it really made a difference...

Erik has no idea how long he’s sitting there, drops of blood running down his arms, his mind in a constant battle between maddening fear and painful hope, when he feels Jean’s presence in his mind for the first time in hours, and hears her rather tentative telepathic voice.

_ Erik, come back. Shaw reappeared, we’re leaving soon. And I… _

There’s a pause, and Erik’s heart rate goes up.  _ What? _

_ Well, I...I think I heard Charles. _

Without thinking about what he’s doing, Erik is on his feet, his heart hammering in his chest and throat, running back to the clearing, jumping over roots and dead trees, while his mind is shouting back at her unrestrained.

_ You heard Charles? What do you mean? You can sense him? Where is he? How is he? Is he alright? _

She doesn’t answer at first, and Erik lets out a frustrated noise as he storms through the forest, ignoring the branches scratching at his arms and legs, and the almost painful thumping of his heart. How can she tell him something like that, and afterwards ignore him? Why the fuck isn’t she replying? He needs to know more. He fucking needs to know  _ everything. _

However, when Erik finally reaches the clearing and everyone is busying themselves gathering up weapons and otherwise preparing themselves to leave, Jean is standing in the middle of it all, her eyes fixed on his face as though waiting for him.

“Tell me,” he wheezes, as he comes to a halt right before her. “Tell me everything.”

She almost smiles, but her face seems too tense to actually move the muscles required to do such a thing.

“Shaw just reappeared in the throne room,” she says. “Just like that. Dropped off by his teleporter.”

“And Charles?” Erik presses on, the blood pounding in his ears, whether from his run through the forest, or his mingled panic and hope he can’t tell. “What about  _ Charles?” _

“I heard him, while I was looking for Shaw,” Jean repeats, though she looks nervous. “Or at least I thought it was him. It sounded like him. He...yelled. And then his voice was gone again.”

Erik’s mind is whirling. He can hardly grasp what Jean is saying. “He  _ yelled? _ But what does that—can you sense his mind?”

“No,” Jean says quickly, almost apologetically. “I believe he must be in some telepathically shielded place, though I’m sure he’s somewhere in the palace. And he managed to break through the barriers for a second or so, that’s all.” She bites her lip, almost like Charles always does, when he’s nervous, or feeling bad about something. It makes Erik’s racing heart squeeze painfully. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you.”

Jean turns around, quickly helping Rogue gather up some things they’d left strewn around the forest ground, leaving Erik stuck somewhere between hope, confusion, and horror, his mind buzzing, thoughts whirling around.

_ Charles is in the palace, _ Erik keeps repeating in his head, trying to make it seem real, although nothing really does at the moment.  _ Charles is alive. Charles is in the palace. _

Because if Jean thinks so it must be true. She knows such things, she  _ knows. _ Charles is in a shielded place, he can’t reach out, but he’s alive, and he isn’t far away.

But then...why did he yell? Was it a scream of pain? Of fear? Or simply one trying to get attention? Why did he fall silent again? Did he overexert himself trying to break through the telepathic barriers?

Erik’s mind is going round in circles, driving him fucking mad, because he can’t fucking  _ know _ for sure. And as glad and relieved as he was for the tiniest moment—he still is—to learn that Charles is still alive, he can’t stop thinking about the fact that Charles yelled. He  _ yelled, _ and then fell silent again. And at a time that Shaw was nowhere to be found too. What if Shaw truly was with him when he made that sound? What if Shaw caused it?

Erik’s hands clench into fists as the images from earlier reform in his mind, now clearer than ever, his heart beating furiously. The old anger comes rushing back then, the desire to rip Shaw limb from limb, and make him pay for everything he’s done to the people Erik loved—loves, because Charles is still alive. And Erik will find him.

He just needs to stay calm, for the millionth time he needs to control himself. He needs to stay focused, and not lose his nerve, because they’re about to do it. They’re about to storm the palace, get rid of Shaw, and finally rescue Charles, which is all that matters in the entire fucking universe. Erik can’t allow his emotions to overwhelm him. Not now, not when it’s so fucking important he puts all his strength into what’s lying right before him. Not when he’s only moments away from making a change.

He can do this. For Charles.

When, only a few minutes later, they all line up in front of Jean, Storm, and Blink, Erik’s heart is still racing, his hands still clenched, his jaw still set, but his mind is clearer, sharply focused on the one thing he’s been aching to do ever since the moment the arena exploded. No, since the moment of his parents’ death. 

When Storm yells, “let’s do this!” and Blink’s portal buzzes into existence Erik’s mind is set.

_ I love you, Charles, _ he sends out one last time—perhaps for the very last time—as he braces himself, ready to fight for everything that matters in the universe.

 

It’s fucking pandemonium.

From the moment Erik jumps through the portal there’s nothing but loud noises, glaring lights, and people, so many goddamn people. Projectiles whoosh past him, people scream, and grunt, and yell, flashes going off around him, bodies, dead or alive, being tossed around.

It’s like he has entered hell itself.

A bolt of lightning electrocutes a guard coming right at Erik, before Erik can even begin to gather himself. Storm flies past him, her eyes having turned white, a dark cloud growing around her, rain and wind, thunder and lightning filling the space inside the palace. And yet she’s not even making half the noise.

Erik manages to steady himself just in time for several more soldiers charging at him, causing their weapons to hit them square in the face, all toppling over, but there are already more, so many more, an endless number of enemies.

If Erik thought it was about attacking, about finding and defeating Shaw, he was fucking wrong. He doesn’t even get the chance to find Shaw, and rid him of his helmet, too goddamn busy to survive, and protect his allies around him.

Several times he just spots a friend getting attacked, and manages to throw their attacker off, not even getting the chance to see whether he really finished them, because his attention is already needed elsewhere.

How on earth are they going to do this?

It goes on and on, an endless cycle of attack, defend, duck, run. At some point, there’s an explosion not far from Erik, people being blasted away from the wall, dust fucking everywhere, and stone, large pieces of rock. As the dust clears somewhat, Erik spots a large hole in the palace wall leading outside, the sun illuminating the dusty and bloody place—perhaps Alex’s doing, perhaps Scott’s, or Storm’s. It doesn’t really matter, and Erik can’t afford to linger on the question because already there are more attackers charging at him.

Erik sees more than one friend fall, not knowing whether they're dead or simply knocked out. Sean falls right in front of him, and Kitty too. He can’t even pause to retrieve their bodies and get them out. Everything is happening too fucking fast.

Somehow, some way, Erik slowly, manages to move closer to the part of the hall where Shaw’s—no,  _ Charles’ _ —throne must be located, without getting killed on the way, and he spots the bastard too, just standing as if nothing was happening, surrounded by guards protecting him, simply watching the people around him drop like flies.

More hatred bubbles up inside Erik at the sight, as he knocks out several soldiers at once, using a shield that had been mounted against the wall.

Storm shrieks somewhere close by, and the rain dies away suddenly, though the noise doesn’t. Erik whips around to try and find her, to get her out and save her, but there’s no flash of bright white hair anywhere, and in the next second he almost gets hit by a bullet, and only just manages to dodge it.

There’s no time, no break. No moment of weakness or hesitation unpunished. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik sees purple flashes around Shaw’s figure in the distance. Blink, trying to get to him, but constantly being repelled by another burst of energy from Shaw’s body. She can’t do it alone. They need to come in from two sides at once, but  _ how? _ They’re far too far away for Erik to reach them.

Erik makes an attempt to wind his way through the fight, but a number of loud bangs distract him, and he whips around to see several heavily armed guards dashing towards him. A metal pipe, ripped out of the wall, stops them, wrapping around them, making them squirm and groan, but then the red teleporter appears out of nowhere and Erik can only just fend him off by shielding himself with another piece of metal he finds lying around, before the mutant disappears again in another puff of red smoke.

There’s too much noise, too much light, too many fucking people around to make out properly who is fighting who—and they seem to be getting more. Erik catches sight of the opening in the palace wall. It looks like ants are scrambling through a hole, hundreds, perhaps thousands of people joining in the fight, but it’s impossible to tell whether they’re friend or foe.

For a moment, Erik’s eyes linger on the scene, on the people, armed and unarmed hurrying inside, their faces screwed up, their eyes ablaze, before he whips around again, reminding himself of the one thing that matters, of the one thing they need to do if they want to end all this madness.

Shaw.

But the self-proclaimed Emperor is no longer standing near the throne, no barricade of guards shielding him from the battlefield any longer. The place so fiercely defended lies empty now, apart from a number of lifeless bodies littering the ground—including that of a young woman with purple hair.

“No,” Erik whispers, before he’s forced to tear his eyes away from the throne again, as he senses several bullets speeding in his direction.

He wipes them out of the air effortlessly as he turns around again, dodging some guy coming at him with a knife, before he melts it in his hand. More projectiles, more attackers, none getting close enough to hurt him, but all keeping him occupied, keeping him from finding out the one thing he needs to know, finding out where Shaw has gone. If he left the throne room, if he had his teleporter take him out of the palace even…

Jean appears next to him out of nowhere, a finger pressed to her temple, yelling something, but it gets lost among all the noise.

“What?” Erik yells back, grabbing hold of the heavy machine gun of a soldier and twisting it into a knot. “What did you say?”

But she’s already gone again, winding her way through the struggle, unhelmeted men collapsing, their eyes blank, as she passes them.

“Jean!” Erik shouts after her, but she can’t hear him, probably can’t sense his mind either, among the thousands of minds surrounding him.

Pushing a few other soldiers against the wall using their metal weapons, Erik tries to get after her. She must have something planned, otherwise she wouldn’t have come to find him.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Rose collapsing to the ground, only a few yards away. His heart beating in his throat, Erik turns around, without thinking, trying to get to her, but the next second she’s disappeared behind a wall of fighters.

“Rose!” Erik yells, but he can barely hear his own voice over the screams, shouts, bangs, thunder, and other noises.

A red beam of plasma misses him by inches, hitting a soldier square in the chest, that was about to strike him, without him even noticing. Erik whips around, to find Alex, or Scott, but he can see neither of them.

The chaos is absolute. Nothing but a whirl of colours, lights, faces, bodies, and noises surrounding Erik.

He just in time spots a soldier attacking Moira, and pushes him out of the way, but he doesn’t have time to check whether she’s alright, because more soldiers are swarming the place, several coming at him at once. He knocks them out with their weapons, but there are more coming at him from behind.

And Jean, of course, has vanished.

“Jean!” Erik yells at the top of his lungs, and in his mind.  _ Jean!  _ But to no avail. No flash of red hair anywhere in sight. Not that he can see very far.

Another beam of plasma shoots past him, but Erik doesn’t even check to see whether it has hit its target.

“Jean!” he keeps yelling, his voice already hoarse.

Jean is the key, the only way to defeat Shaw, they all know that. But she can’t do it alone. She needs someone to get his helmet off, and with Blink out—Erik tries very hard not to think about what that might mean—perhaps there’s nobody else trying to help her, all too distracted by the fight going on around them.

It needs to stop. Now. They can’t fight forever. They’ve already lost too many friends, shed too much blood themselves. This needs to be over.

“Jean!” Erik yells again, knocking several more soldiers out with their guns, his eyes scanning the demolished room, while he keeps the senses of his mutation focused sharp on any kind of missiles or attackers finding their way towards him.

Even though the place is now scattered with feebly stirring, or unmoving bodies the number of fighters doesn’t seem to have shrunk at all, and there are still people scrambling through the massive hole in the wall. It’s hard to make out anything anymore with everyone covered in blood and a thick layer of dust obscuring their faces, and possible uniforms.

The noise hasn’t died down, but Erik’s ears seem to have adapted to it. Everything sounds dull now, fucking surreal, and it doesn’t look real anymore either. 

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Erik half feels as though he’s floating as he winds his way past fights, automatically fending off bullets and the like, walking past screaming people, past people with a manic glint in their eyes, or no light at all. 

So fucking unreal.

A sob penetrates Erik’s half-deafened eardrum for a second, and he spots a boy, not older than thirteen, his face covered in blood and dust like everyone else’s, kneeling next to the bloodied body of an older man in the middle of the room, in the very heart of the battle.

Without thinking Erik rushes to his side, pulling the boy up to his feet and towards the hole in the wall.

“Get out of here,” he mutters into the boy’s ear. “Just go. This is no place for you.”

He rushes back without checking whether the boy has even heard him.

Just as Erik is about to throw himself right into the fight again, he spots some red hair flying past him in the near distance, and turns in the same direction without properly thinking about it.

There’s no place for thoughts.

“Jean!” Erik yells once more, even though he knows there’s no way she can hear him. He ducks under the swinging fist of a soldier, pushing him aside by the metal eyelets in his uniform, and rushes in the direction where he saw Jean only a second earlier. Heavy rocks, part of the blown apart wall, block his way, body parts sticking out from underneath them, but Erik climbs over them without much effort.

“Jean!”

She has to be somewhere. He just saw her, and if she’s been able to keep an eye on Shaw—

Erik spots him, before he spots her.

Shaw is lurking near the door leading deeper into the palace, wearing an odd expression, surrounded by at least a hundred helmet-wearing guards.

Jean is close to him, but not close enough, she herself surrounded by several fighters, some of them mutants Erik knows from sight, others apparently soldiers of the palace, without helmets, who must have either switched sides, or been mind-controlled into helping them by Jean.

They’re fighting tooth and nail, more fighters joining them all the time but just as many getting knocked down, shot, or whatever. It doesn’t look good.

If one thing is clear it’s that Erik needs to get the fuck there and help them.

He jumps down the broken down piece of wall he was standing on, right back into the fight, losing sight of Shaw, Jean and the others for a minute. Another bullet whooshes in his direction, but he flicks it away as easily as the ones before.

He hardly sees or hears the fight still going on around him anymore. All he knows is that it needs to be fucking over now, and that he can help make it so. Perhaps, if he can get close enough to Shaw, get hold of some wires, he’ll be able to rip his helmet off so Jean can finish him.

It just  _ has _ to work.

He pushes aside several people, slides past more, dodges bullets and other projectiles, until he can see Jean’s red hair not far away.

Almost there. It’s almost over.

There’s more red—red smoke—and in the next second Jean is gone, vanished. Just like that.

Erik stops dead in his tracks.

Fucking  _ no. _

“Jean!” he yells, turning wildly in every direction, trying to spot her once more, to find her, and bring her back. Because they  _ need _ her. “Jean!”

When Erik does find her, it’s already too late. She’s falling, several yards away, her red hair flying in the air. Erik hears himself scream, extending his hands automatically to grab her belt, or some other metal part of her clothing to break her fall, but he hasn’t even got a proper hold on her, when her body hits the floor in what must be a terrible sound that gets swallowed by the general noise of the battle.

She doesn’t stir, and within seconds her body has disappeared behind a group of fighters.

Erik can’t move, his eyes still fixed on the point in the air where he saw her only a moment earlier—before everything went to shit. His heart is racing, but his body feels numb, dead.

Jean…oh god, what will they do now? Without Jean...what chance do they even have?

Almost automatically, his mind barely registering what’s  going on, Erik fends off an attacker coming at him with a bayonet. His brain is empty, barely grasping the situation around him, his heart heavy.

All this...for nothing?

Because they knew even before they came here that their only chance would be to mind-freeze Shaw, that there’s no way in hell they’d stand a chance against his powers. But with Jean gone...what hope is there? 

Who knows how many have already given their life, how many will follow? All those people that Erik could almost call friends...died for nothing?

It can’t be. It can’t. It can’t be over. How can it be over, just like that? How can he give up—on everything he dreamt of, on  _ Charles? _

Erik closes his eyes for the fraction of a second, allowing the memories he held at bay during the fight to wash over him again. Charles’ face, his smile, his love, the warmth of his presence in Erik’s mind—for a moment it almost feels as if he’s there again.

Erik’s jaw is set as his eyes pop open again.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. It’s all or nothing. He’ll try, he’ll fucking try, and if he fails—at least he’ll have given everything he has.

He turns again, in Shaw’s direction, spotting the man, standing a little apart from everyone else, still hidden by soldiers, more joining them by the minute.

This is it.

Erik has just started running, no regard for anyone else, or for what’s happening around him, his eyes not leaving Shaw’s face, his powers already stretching out, feeling the metal around him, ready to use it all—every single tiny needle or eyelet he can find—when he senses movement around Shaw. One uniformed guy, an important looking man—a general perhaps—is moving closer to Shaw, leaning in, Shaw turning to look at the man, a frown on his face—before the man suddenly stretches out his hands and rips Shaw’s helmet off in one quick motion.

Erik only notices a moment later that he’s stopped running, that every muscle in his body is frozen to the spot. Shaw’s face disappears, the guards move, and yell, but Erik can’t seem to grasp what’s going on. The truth of what he’s seeing still hasn’t quite penetrated his dull brain, when there’s another flash of red—much closer than any other before—and suddenly he’s high in the air, and falling—just like Jean. His slow brain, already bursting with unprocessed information takes too long to catch on—and then there’s the voice in his mind, or is he only imagining that? Because how could it be?

Charles’ voice.

_ Erik, no! _

Too late, much too late, while Erik’s mind is still trying to grasp what’s happening, Erik’s body reacts, his hands grasping for the magnetic field to slow him down, but before he can even properly feel it, there’s a dull thud, a splitting pain in his head and body—and Erik feels and thinks no more.


	24. 2.9 Charles

Charles grits his teeth for what feels like hours, trying to blank out the pain, first in his legs, then in his back, and most of all in his head, unwavering and hardly bearable.

He tries not to move, or even flinch, tries not to make a sound or do anything suspicious.

Who knows whether they’re watching him at this very moment, perhaps listening in? Who knows whether they’re already suspecting anything?

Best to appear exhausted, passed out perhaps, because Shaw mustn’t know that Charles is still in pain, that the serum didn’t work for some strange reason, that the sensation in his legs is fading, and his telepathy is coming back.

It doesn’t seem to stop, the pain in his head, but build up more and more by the second. It wasn’t this bad when his telepathy returned in the cabin on Genosha, it’s never been this fucking terrible before. His head is going to burst, any minute it’ll just explode and there’ll be blood splatters all over the walls…

And then, finally, after an eternity, the pressure lets up somewhat. Charles has trouble believing it will last for very long. Surely the pain will be back in a moment, perhaps even worse than before, crushing him completely. He braces himself, his fingers twitching, waiting for the splitting headache to hit him again, but nothing happens. On the contrary, the buzzing in his ears, the screams, the white light before his firmly-shut eyes, all fade, slowly but steadily. Still, it takes him several moments to believe it’s true.

Finally, as the throbbing in his head has dulled down considerably, and the only real pain in the rest of his body is the all too familiar one in his lower back as well as the stinging in his ribs, Charles allows himself to stir for the first time, and open his eyes.

It’s still dark, still cold, still silent, now that Shaw’s gone again, however long ago that may have been.

Carefully, Charles turns onto his side, unable to suppress a grunt of pain at the flaring up discomfort in his back. He stays in this position, his eyes fixed on the cell door, though there is nothing behind it worth examining. 

What now?

Yes, he’s got his telepathy back, but what good will it do if he can’t reach anyone outside? Plus, it won’t be long before Azazel will come and check on him —in a helmet, no less—and what if he notices Charles’ legs don’t work anymore? Not to mention that Charles’ unreliable bladder will definitely betray him sooner or later if nothing unexpected happens, and that won’t go unnoticed for long. But what if he somehow managed to pull himself onto the bucket though?

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing up his eyes.

It’s no good. He can’t really afford to move at all, for fear of being found out, and even if he managed to sit on the bucket, he can’t really do anything without a fucking catheter.

In the end it all comes down to his powers, and his control over them, his energy, and his will to do something, make a change. Because if he stays in here he won’t stay undetected for long. Shaw will find out what happened, find out that the serum he gave Charles didn’t work, for whatever reason, and who knows what he’ll do then.

Charles shivers at the mere thought. He won’t let that bastard touch him again if he can help it, or Erik, or anyone. If only he can get out of his prison, at least telepathically. If only he can break through the thick walls with his powers.

Closing his eyes again, pressing his whole hand to his temple, Charles tries. His mind expands, his thoughts crawling in all directions, like feelers, in a quest to detect another mind, but as soon as he’s started he’s already getting painfully pushed back. There’s nothing for his mind to latch itself onto, nothing to steady him, while he tries to escape his mind-prison.

He tries another time, more forcefully now, but the next second he can only gasp in pain as the same pressure builds up in his head again that has tortured him for the last hours.

“Fuck,” Charles groans, rubbing his temple, before he remembers the camera again, and quickly drops his hand.

This can’t be it. His only chance at escaping can’t slip through his fingers because he’s too fucking weak to make proper use of his telepathy. What else has he got? It’s this or fucking nothing.

Once more, Charles presses his hand to his head, closing his eyes, concentrating harder than he’s ever done before on accumulating all his telepathic powers, before he sends out a burst of energy, with more force than he’s ever applied before, jamming them through the mental barriers surrounding him. 

It’s fucking agony. 

It feels as though he’s being rapidly squeezed through a far-too-narrow tube, the walls of which are burning, scorching his nerve endings, while the pressure keeps building. Charles hears himself yelling, though he’s not sure whether it’s only in his head. It’s killing him, and he hurriedly scrambles back, while his mind is burning and screaming—

And then it’s over again, and he’s lying on the cold stone floor once more, shaking more badly than he’s ever done before, his head still throbbing, cold sweat breaking out over his body. He barely manages to extend an arm to push himself onto his back.

He feels as though he’s just woken up after having been ill for weeks. No energy left in him, every muscle sore as though he’d just been in a fight.

“Shit,” Charles wheezes. At least his voice still works, though that won’t be much help to him. Nothing will if he doesn’t manage to break through the walls with his telepathy, and it doesn’t look as though he will.

So is this it? No chance of escape, no chance of contacting anyone? And sooner or later he’ll definitely be found out. 

And he really thought this was his chance. He thought he was at least going to find Erik’s mind, make sure that he’s alright, if they really are also keeping him in the dungeons—but there was nothing, at least not close enough for Charles to detect

“Erik,” Charles whispers, and for the first time since his telepathy returned to him, tears fill his eyes, sobs rippling through his exhausted body, making the shaking even worse.

What if Erik was never there to begin with? What if they killed Erik as soon as they got hold of him, and Shaw has only been using him to make Charles compliant, to bait him?

Or what if he is somewhere else after all, safe, and far away, somewhere in space?

Shame washes over Charles as he realises how much he longs for Erik to be close by, for Erik to think of him too, and imagine what it would be like to hold and kiss him again, even though Charles knows it would be best for Erik to be light years away, and never come back again, to forget Charles, forget about what they had, and simply move on, on an uncolonised planet perhaps, or even in an undiscovered galaxy.

He should want Erik to be safe. If he were half a decent human being he’d wish for Erik to have given up on him, but he can’t. There’s a selfish core deep inside of him that aches for Erik’s touch and love, no matter the circumstances, silently hoping for him to come crashing into the dungeons to save him, even though it would mean almost certain death for both of them.

Just to feel Erik’s mind again, only once, wrap himself into it, and forget about everything else. If only he could have that, he’d be able to bear anything Shaw might be yet to throw at him.

If only he could have Erik. Erik’s mind, his love, and warmth. What did they feel like? The memory is there. It’s not like the real thing, but still Charles grasps at it, like a drowning man looking for something to hold on to to keep him afloat. 

Erik’s mind, in all its structure, so familiar, so often visited, left on imprint in Charles’ brain, that he now can’t get enough of. And if it’s for the last time. Erik’s memories he shared, their time spent in the cabin, on the Siren, all those times they touched, and Charles shared Erik’s experience, it’s all there, but not quite real. Too dull, too grey, but still Charles digs deeper, desperate to relive every single memory.

And then, just as the misery threatens to overwhelm him, as he’s about to give up, Charles hears it, a mental voice, barely perceivable, as though miles away, but nevertheless definitely, unmistakably  _ there. _

_ Charles? Charles, are you in here? _

Charles can’t suppress a small gasp escaping him, because he knows that voice, even though he can’t yet sense the mind behind it. He’s heard it often, daily, before he began taking the serum, and kept hearing his vocal counterpart until he took off on the Magnificent all this time ago. And even though recent events have pushed its owner to the back of Charles’ mind, he was never quite gone from it, never forgotten.

“Logan,” Charles, whispers, though so silently that no microphone would be able to pick it up.

He pulls himself together, and sends the words out mentally instead, praying that they’ll reach Logan while Charles isn’t able to get a grip on The other man’s mind, who has no means of catching thoughts out of thin air like Charles does. 

_ Logan? Is that you?  _

A moment’s pause.

_ Charles! Thank god we found you! I was starting to think we wouldn’t. You must be further down. Hang in there. We’re coming for you. _

And another voice, just as familiar, though more like a shriek.

_ Charles! Oh my god! Charles! _

_ Raven? _

Charles’ heart is beating frantically in his stinging chest as he waits with bated breath, his mind alert, his telepathy carefully scanning his surroundings for any sign of an approaching mind until—

_ Logan, Raven, I’ve found you! It really is you! _

His friends’ minds, though still vague and not completely accessible to him, are like shelters in a storm, warm and safe and  _ familiar _ places to rest his mind in. And there’s another one, too. A third friendly and familiar mind.

_ Hank? _

It feels too fucking good to be true. Can this truly be real? How?

Overwhelmed and dizzy, Charles gives all his friends’ minds a gentle nudge and receives a wave of relief and joy in return.

_ Of course it’s us, Chuck.  _ Charles can almost see the smirk on Logan’s lips, reflected in his mind. _ Who else would be stupid enough to break into the fucking dungeons? _

It feels like ages since Charles last laughed, but now he can’t help himself. His brain isn’t quite ready to process what all this might mean, and what’s about to happen, but he does understand that his friends, the people whom he missed, are about to find him. 

He’ll no longer be alone. But how can they—

_ Hang on, _ he says quickly, cold sweat breaking out all over his body, as he remembers.  _ There are cameras in here. Don’t come in! They’ll know it’s you, and— _

_ Calm down, Chuck, _ he hears Logan’s reassuring voice.  _ They don’t give a damn about these cameras. There are cameras in our cells too. If they really checked them, we wouldn’t be here now. So this is it? _

Their minds are incredibly close now, though still slightly obstructed.

_ Yes, _ Charles says.  _ I think you’re right behind the door leading to my corridor. _

His heart is beating so frantically now, he can actually hear the blood pounding in his ears. Not long now. They’re almost there.

With all the strength that his weakened and still shaking arms can muster, Charles drags his body over the cold stone floor towards the bars of the cell door leading into the corridor, for the first time ignoring the cameras on the wall. What does it matter if it records him being unable to walk? It’ll see much more in a minute anyway.

He can barely see the heavy metal door at the dark end of the corridor through the bars, but he can hear clanking. Something is definitely happening.

With an ear-splitting bang the heavy door comes crashing to the ground, and his friend’s minds come completely into focus, raw and intense emotions flooding over him like an avalanche of relief, excitement, worry, and joy. 

Charles gasps as he scrambles to tone down his oversensitive telepathic senses and shuts them out again, looking up just in time to see Logan, a large man covered in blue fur, and what looks like a general, judging by the uniform, rushing towards him.

“Charles!” the general—no, Raven! It’s Raven’s mind inside that body!—yells, sinking to the floor and stretching out a hand through the bars, that Charles gladly takes. It’s weird to feel a man’s rough hand, while sensing his sister’s mind, but it’s not the first time. She used to transform a lot when she was a teenager, just to make him laugh, and he, sensing her mind, was always the only one who could tell it was her. It’s such a familiar moment, that it drives the tears into his eyes, and he grabs her hand even more tightly.

It barely takes Logan and Hank five seconds to rip the whole cell door clean out of the wall, and rip apart the chain around Charles’ ankle, before Logan, too, sinks down next to Charles and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug that makes Charles wince slightly at the pain in his ribs.

But it doesn’t really matter. None of his pain really matters anymore right now.

“Damn, bub. I’ve missed you. But—no offense—you look like shit.”

Charles can only laugh happily, too giddy and overwhelmed to form a coherent sentence, but he grabs Logan’s shoulders very tightly in return, trying to convey, in some way, how glad he is to see him. 

He never thought he’d see him again. Or Raven. Or Hank.

Hank claps him slightly on the back (causing Charles ro wince once more), while Raven plasters herself to his side, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He could kiss them all, but he can’t, because he can barely think straight.

“Out of here, I think,” Logan says after a moment, relaxing his hold on Charles somewhat. “We’ll explain everything on the way up, but right now we need to leave.”

 

Shaw really must have kept Charles at the very bottom of the deep dungeons, because every time they’ve hurried up another flight of stone stairs, Charles on Logan’s back, they run into another heavy door hanging loosely in its hinges, followed by another flight of stairs.

Whenever they round a corner Charles expects helmeted guards charging at them, and he can tell by the tension in the others’ minds and bodies that they feel the same, but strangely nobody appears.

How is it possible that Shaw and his men haven’t noticed anything yet? Or are they waiting at the exit in masses to overpower them?

“They kept all of us in the cells right at the top,” Logan wheezes, as he keeps running alongside Raven and Hank. “Probably wanted to make sure nobody was in any way close to you. Well, anyway, Shaw forced Hank to make more serum, to use on me, on Hank himself, Raven—though, as you know, it never worked on her in the first place—and a few others. Emma Frost, for instance,” he adds with a bark of laughter. “Doesn’t trust her anymore for some reason.”

“Nobody trusts telepaths,” Charles murmurs. 

His body shifts slightly as Logan shrugs. “Well, we’re putting all our trust in one particular telepath, so there’s that.”

Charles can’t help but smile at that. “So you...you knew I was down there?”

“It was either that or you being dead,” Raven answers, climbing the stairs effortlessly in her general’s disguise. “We decided to hope, and luckily we were right. Plus, Hank noticed the extra serum Shaw was requesting and thought it might be for you. And then we all saw that memory, and—”

“Hang on,” Charles interrupts her, not quite following. “What memory?”

“Oh, right, it wouldn’t have reached you down there,” she says. “Some telepath sent out a truly horrible memory of Shaw ordering several people killed, and then watching while their kids wept as the bodies burnt—it was sickening.”

Charles’ heart skips a beat. That description sounds awfully familiar. “What?”

“Yes.” Raven grimaces. “Really upsetting. I don’t think anyone slept that night. But it made Hank realise we’re not alone, because someone out there made us all see it, right? So he took a chance.”

“I destroyed all the serum that was left,” Hank continues in a deep growl that fits his new look, as they continue climbing the stairs as fast as they can. “And made a fake one instead. We managed to communicate through our cell doors, and once the serum had worn off, we escaped.”

Charles’ mind is spinning. “But...what about the guards?”

Raven shrugs. “No chance against our combined strength. And we did it right after shift changeover, so we’d have enough time before anyone came in—they don’t care that much about us. So, yeah, and now we’re here,” she adds, taking two steps at once.

It’s all a bit too much to process, and yet there’s one question burning desperately on Charles’ mind.

“Who else was in the cells? Any other prisoners?”

Raven shakes her head. “Not where we were kept. Well...my Dad and Cain, but we kept them locked up—no need to give them a chance to fuck things up for us, right? All other prisoners are probably kept in the proper prison at the edge of the city, I guess.”

“But…” Again, they pass a corridor with a broken down door, and Charles sweeps it with his telepathy, knowing already that he won’t find any minds behind it.

_ Where _ is Erik? If Shaw told the truth, Erik must be a prisoner too, and it sounded as though he was also being kept in the dungeons...or is that just Charles’ memory playing tricks on him?

“What happened to Erik?” he asks, forgetting for a moment that ‘Erik’ is not someone Raven, Logan, and Hank are familiar with.

“What Erik? Lehnsherr?” Raven asks, raising her eyebrows at him as she continues climbing the stairs. “The guy who tried to kill you? Or who are you talking about?”

Charles feels a spike of anger. His own. All those lies. Again. “Erik never tried to kill me.”

“Oh.” Raven’s face is blank. “I figured that part was half-true, and Shaw only lied about the himself-not-being-involved part.”

“What? What did Shaw say? Can you please explain what is going on?”

“Shaw claimed that Marko ordered Lehnsherr to kidnap and kill you,” Logan chimes in. “We thought that Shaw was probably also involved in recruiting Lehnsherr to kill you. So we got that wrong?”

“Yes,” says Charles, his mind whirling worse than ever, trying to process all the new information. “Erik never tried to kill me. He…” _ He loves me, _ he thinks, but just stops himself from saying it out loud. “He was set up. They tried to kill us both—Kurt and Shaw together.”

The others are silent for a moment as what he said sinks in, but Charles doesn’t have the patience to wait. He needs to know more.

“Where is he?” he asks urgently. “Erik. Where are they keeping him?”

Hank blinks. “Keeping him? I don’t think they have him. Shaw said he’s on the run, and that they’re going to go after him to bring him to justice.”

Charles’ heart is beating so hard in his throat it hurts. “He’s not—he’s not here?”

Logan’s hair tickles Charles’ chest lightly as he shakes his head. “Pretty sure they’d tell the public they had him if they did—and then they’d execute him in a big fashion to make it seem like they’re doing something—Shaw doesn’t have too many fans to put it mildly. He needs the positive publicity. Make him look like a hero, you know.”

Before Charles can say anything, or put all the loose ends together in his mind, Raven, Hank, and Logan come to a halt.

“Alright, Charles,” Raven says with a sort of calm urgency. “We’re about to step out of the dungeons and into the part with the few cells that are still officially in use. Can you sense anyone? Any guards?”

Obediently, even though his mind is still whirling at the possibility of Erik having escaped Shaw, Charles closes his eyes for a moment, pressing a finger to his temple, feeling around. “There’s...Kurt, I think. And Cain. A little further away.” He winces as he plunges into the nastiness of their minds for a second before hastily withdrawing again.. “Nobody else within a few hundred yards, as far as I can tell—at least nobody without a helmet.”

Raven and Hank both frown. 

“Weird,” she says after a moment. “You’d think they’d have noticed something was going on by now, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s been a while.”

“Well, perhaps an army of helmeted men is waiting for us somewhere,” Charles says, the thought making his heart beat faster again, while his mind is still in overdrive.

Erik. Not imprisoned, but at large. Erik’s memory having been shared with everyone in the palace, probably by Jean. What does it all mean?

“Are they planning something?” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Planning something?” Raven asks, raising her eyebrows. “Who?”

“The rebels,” he says slowly. “If they shared this memory…”

“That’s what we thought,” Hank chimes in. “But obviously we don’t know anything specific. It seems as though something is about to happen though.”

“So we’re just going to wait and see?” Charles asks, half distracted by his own mind still trying to put all the jigsaw pieces together.

Something is about to happen? Is Erik involved?  _ Please _ let Erik be alright…

“No, we’re not going to wait,” Raven, says shaking her head. “We’re going to finish that bastard once and for all. But we need your help to do it.”

She grabs Charles’ arm to get his full attention, shaking him slightly, and her forceful soldier’s grip makes him look at her despite all the thoughts still occupying his brain.

“You’re the only one who can defeat Shaw, Charles,” she says emphatically, the general’s green eyes not leaving Charles’. “You saw his mutation—there’s no shooting him, or attacking him with ordinary weapons. You need to get into his mind and knock him out, or freeze him—block his mutation. Something.”

“He’s wearing a helmet,” Charles says immediately. “I can’t get through that. There’s no way—”

“Let me worry about that,” Raven interrupts him. “You stay somewhere hidden but close by. I’ll get the helmet—looking like this he won’t suspect anything. I’ll give you a signal when I’m about to do it, and you freeze him as soon as his helmet is off. Simple, really.”

Charles realises his mouth is open and quickly closes it again. He can hardly believe what he just heard. This is madness. Complete and utter madness.

“What? So we’re going to walk all the way through the palace to where Shaw is, and just expect not to meet anyone on the way?”

“Not exactly,” Hank pipes up. “Raven is going to go ahead of us and mentally give you a heads up on whether the coast is clear. She looks like an official, so she shouldn’t have any problem. Whenever we encounter someone—well, either they don’t wear a helmet, so you can take care of them, or they do, then Raven, Logan and I will. We’ve got quite a bit of strength between us if you haven’t noticed,” he adds in response to Charles’ incredulous expression.

“But…” Charles splutters. He’s not sure he’s ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong—apart from the one he and Erik worked out with the rebels perhaps. “But they’ll notice something is going on,” he says, as soon as his ability to form proper sentences has returned to him. “They’ll send backup. There’s no way—”

“We’ll just have to be quick,” Raven interrupts him with a shrug. “If we get there quickly, they might not have time to react. Besides,” she adds with an encouraging smile. “Hank destroyed all the serum, so there’s no way they can take our powers from us—gives us a huge advantage.”

“Unless they kill us,” Charles says, his eyes wide, still not quite able to process how everything is happening so fast. Not so long ago he was in his cell, sure he was going to die there at some point, and now they’re fighting?

“Can’t kill me,” Logan growls. “And there’s no way I’m letting anyone near you, Chuck. Not sure if they’d dare shoot the rightful heir to the throne anyway. Your presence alone might make them back off, don’t you think?”

Charles opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, as he realises he has no idea what to say. It’s madness. The four of them against Shaw and the combined military of the palace. How on earth will they survive this? But then...Logan has a point, and so does Raven.

Besides, what other hope is there of ever seeing Erik again? Or of preventing whatever might be about to happen that might cause innocent people to suffer. Of stopping Erik in time before he does something irrational and stupid that could get him killed? And what other options are there anyway? Wait until somebody notices their top security prisoners have escaped? That would be even madder. No, they have to do something. And now. They have to try, however impossible it sounds, even if it’s the last thing they do.

Charles has to give everything he can, and try to put an end to all the injustice, to Shaw’s reign.

For all the people who are suffering. For all his friends who fought and maybe died for him, though he doesn’t know it yet. For Raven, Hank, and Logan—his faithful friends.

And for Erik. Most of all for Erik, his love. For the possibility of seeing and holding him again. For the future they dreamt of, however unlikely it may be.

“Alright.” Charles’ voice sounds croaky and shaky, so he swallows away the lump in his throat, and tries again, with more conviction this time, and a nod. “Alright, let’s do this.”

A smile blossoms over the general’s face that is so  _ Raven _ that Charles can’t stop himself from smiling back.

They’re really going to do this.

Holy shit.

“Right,” Logan says. “Can you find out where he is? Us wandering blindly through the palace isn’t really a great idea...”

Nodding, Charles puts a finger to his temple and closes his eyes, consciously waiving his mental barriers, and allowing his telepathy to flow freely. Where before he only checked for minds in the closer distance without really diving into them, Charles now goes further, past several sets of thick walls, and even further on.

“Strange…” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone in particular. 

“What?” Hank asks quickly. “What is strange?”

“There’s nobody but Kurt and Cain anywhere close by—even those few minds I felt earlier, all gone. It feels as though the corridors are completely empty.”

“What?”

“I know,” Charles says, while he stretches his mind even further. “It’s weird. I—”

And then he senses it, or rather, them.

Thousands of minds, all in one place, in the throne room at the other end of the palace. Panic, rage, pain, agitation, sorrow, and determination, so much of all of them that it momentarily takes Charles’ breath away. He gets sucked into them almost immediately as he tries to find out more, witnesses the panic of a fighter at a number of approaching soldiers, fury and numbing pain at the sight of a fallen friend, the overwhelming, paralysing fear of a young boy cowering in a corner, the pugnaciousness of a soldier, the blind rage and agony of a man who just lost his daughter. He wants to cry, to scream, to hide, and to attack and kill all at once. The pain is unbearable, the burden of a thousand lost loved ones crushing him, making his heart explode, fighting to get out of his chest, constricting at the rage he feels.

“Charles! Charles!” Raven’s voice, her real voice is what brings him back, along with her hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him. “Charles, it’s alright. Come back! Shut it out! Whatever you’re seeing, block it!”

And he does. Her voice leads him to her mind, and he plunges into it, desperately clinging on to her memories, the ones they shared, familiar, happy images of better times. Him and Raven playing in the garden, them stealing food from the kitchen and eating it, giggling, and hidden away in a broom cupboard, him reading to Raven in the evening, before she crept back to her own room. He holds on to them, dives into them, and uses them to pull himself out of the horror of all those minds at the other end of the palace.

“Charles?” That’s Raven’s hand on his cheek, he can feel the scales, and her voice doesn’t sound quite as urgent anymore, though still unnerved.

He’s back, the minds gone, but the horror still lingers, making his heart race in his still stinging chest, and his stomach twist, cold sweat breaking out all over his body. He only now notices that he’s lying on his back on the cold stone floor, both Logan’s and Raven’s now blue face hovering over him, their expressions alarmed. 

Logan must have put him down on the floor. Did he scream? Or squirm so bad Logan couldn’t hold him anymore?

“Charles, what did you see?” Raven asks him urgently. “What’s going on?”

It takes him another moment to find the right words, desperately trying to shove the memories of what he saw to the very back of his mind.

“There’s a battle going on. In the throne room. So many people. I…” His voice dies away again, and he swallows.

“A battle?” Hank asks, his eyebrows raised in alarm. “What kind of battle?”

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes in an effort to stop his head from spinning.

“People are fighting. Fighting Shaw and his men. So many victims. I don’t know…”

“Is that why nobody’s here?” Raven asks quickly. “Why nobody’s checking on us?”

It takes Charles a moment to register her question, the emotions he picked up still reverberating dully in his mind. When it finally gets through to him he nods. “I think so.”

Nobody speaks for a moment. 

Charles’ hands are shaking, and he hugs them around his chest. So much suffering. Again. So many people in pain.

“Is Shaw there?” Raven asks into the silence.

Struggling to regain his composure, Charles thinks hard, while simultaneously trying to keep the emotions at bay. Then he nods.

Yes, he saw him there. Only in the distance, but he was there, surrounded by guards. He was definitely there.

“So let’s go,” she says simply, scrambling back to her feet. “Let’s end this. Once and for all.”

 

The corridors are as empty as they’ve never been before.

They rush down them, no longer caring about staying hidden, or checking whether the coast is clear first, Charles on Logan’s back once more, Hank blue and huge, and Raven back in the shape of the general.

Nobody stops them, nobody even crosses their path. The place would seem entirely abandoned if it weren’t for the noises growing steadily louder as they approach the throne room, or the increasing heated emotions forcing Charles to put up his strongest barriers in order to prevent his mind from getting overwhelmed again.

It makes him feel numb, the way he has to lock his mind against telepathic sensations, keeping his own feelings in check almost as much, and he has to rely on his human senses again, while simultaneously putting almost all his concentration into not letting anything leak through that might cause him to collapse again. The closer they get to the throne room, and the more he can sense the mass of emotions pressing against his mind, the more exhausted he feels, the more sweat breaks out on his forehead, and the faster his heart races in his chest.

_ Not for long, _ he keeps telling himself, his own voice in his head strained and dull.  _ We’re almost there, and then we’ll put an end to this. And I might see Erik again. _

This one thought is what ultimately keeps him going, what makes him grit his teeth, press his finger against his temple so forcefully that he’s most likely bruising himself, and fight for the upper hand, fight to stay in control over his telepathy.

Though how on earth he’s supposed to extract Shaw’s mind from within this sea of misery he’s not sure. It feels more likely he’ll drown in emotions before he’s even found it.

“Almost there!” Raven yells, not bothering to keep her voice down, because who would give a damn about a guard’s shouts within this chaos, and who but them would be able to hear her anyway over the panicked screams and pained moans, over the sounds of gunshots and breaking glass and god knows what else.

Logan slows down as they approach the enormous doors leading into the throne room, or rather, the large hole in the stone wall, where the door used to be, the expensive carpet now covered in stone, dust, splinters of wood, and other, unidentifiable things, while Raven keeps running, throwing just one glance back at Charles as she slips through the hole, a glance that contains so many emotions Charles can barely process them all.

Logan stops completely as they reach the opening, and the chaotic, horrifying scene comes completely into focus. Everything is dust and blood, but moving, terrified eyes, or blank ones staring emptily ahead, limbs, rock, bodies everywhere, and a moving mass of grey, black, white and red, one big buzzing confusion without order, without sense, without...anything. Charles presses his finger even more forcefully against his temple, as the emotions—theirs and his own—threaten to tear down his mental barriers.

He can’t think. He can’t feel. Not right now. If he does, it’s over. There’s no control over anything anymore if he allows the terror, anger, and pain to grab hold of him. And yet he can’t close his eyes against the sight, can’t block out the image of severed limbs, of crying people, of blank eyes, and limp bodies, or the screams, and the sobs.

Is this all his fault? All due to his inactivity as Crown Prince? And a not well enough thought through attack several days earlier? How could he ever let it come to this?

“Chuck!” 

Logan’s voice only penetrates Charles’ dull eardrums because the other man is so close by.

“Chuck! Now!”

Dully, automatically, Charles’ eyes follow the direction of Logan’s pointing finger, and fall on Shaw, not fighting but hiding behind several hundred guards, and one guard in particular, a general, who makes his way through the crowd unhindered, creeping closer to the self-proclaimed Emperor, only a few feet away now.

_ Raven, _ Charles’ overexerted brain provides, though weakly. 

It’s time.

Focusing all his energy, every ounce of concentration he has left, Charles mentally zooms in on the group backed against the wall. 

He can do this, he has to, and if it’s the last thing he does. Keep everyone else shut out, focus on Shaw, on his mind, that’ll be accessible any moment, any moment now—

As soon as Raven grabs hold of Shaw’s helmet and pulls, the other man’s eyes wide in shock, his hands automatically reaching upwards to hold on to his most essential piece of protection, Charles mentally lunges forward, desperately trying to dodge any distraction in his way—any thoughts, emotions, devastating desperation that could burn him, paralyse him and stop him from doing what has to be done—and latches on to Shaw’s very synapses, axons, and dendrites. Without thinking about what he’s doing, because his head is buzzing, and other people’s emotions are once more trying to get the better of him, breaking through his fragile shield, while he can see Raven being forced to the ground, and guards attempting to help Shaw put his helmet back on, Charles does the only thing he’s capable of at this moment. He pulls, just like he did on Genosha he pulls and rips Shaw’s mind apart, though more completely this time, connections breaking, memories and intentions disappearing, as the light behind the man’s eyes shuts off, and he crumples to the floor, out of sight.

But Raven, oh, Raven...where is Raven? 

Logan is on the move, running in the direction of where Shaw’s face has disappeared behind those of so many now panicking guards, and Charles can’t do anything but focus on finding Raven’s mind in the midst of them, but  _ how _ can he do it if he can’t even see her, and there are so many minds in the room, screaming their horror, anger, and pain at him?

And then a flash of red to his left makes Charles’ head whip around, and what he sees wipes every other thought from his mind.

Erik’s body, in the air, falling, limply, like a doll.

_ Erik, no! _

The sound of the still ongoing battle is so loud that no noise is discernible amongst it as Erik’s body disappears in the midst of the fighters.


	25. 2.10 Erik

Charles is there.

It’s the first thing Erik knows, as his senses come slowly back to him, before he even tries to open his eyes.

_ Charles is there. _

It feels incredible, too wonderful to be true, and at the same time not surprising at all. 

Of course Charles is there. Charles will always find a way back to him, wherever they are, and they’ll never be apart for long.

It’s strange how Erik remembers exactly what happened, until the last moment, how his brain immediately provides him with all the information he needs, before he’s even attempted to move.

The battle. Shaw. Charles’ voice. Erik falling.

He survived then, the dull pain in his arms and legs and head tell him as much. He’s alive.

How is it possible he’s feeling so calm? How can he be so sure he’s safe? Why doesn’t the absence of sound unnerve him? Why doesn’t he care how long he’s been out, and what happened in the meantime? How can he be so sure everything turned out alright? Why doesn’t he feel the urge to know more?

Erik doesn’t even attempt to open his eyes right away, or alert anyone to the fact that he’s woken up. He can tell that the one person he’s interested in talking to, in having close, already knows he’s awake and thinking of him.

_ Erik… _

Charles’ telepathic voice is the softest Erik has ever heard it.

The next second, a tender hand caresses his face, but Erik doesn’t flinch, because he knew it would be there before it appeared.

_ Charles… _ is all he can respond, but he knows it’s enough. Charles knows how he feels, because Charles knows his mind, and also his heart.

Oh how he missed  _ Charles.  _ How much it hurt to think he’d never see him again, but how quickly that hurt has faded into nothingness now that they’re together again. Will be together forever, never to be parted again.

They don’t talk any more for a while. Charles’ hand keeps gently stroking his cheek, and Erik keeps his eyes closed, not moving, just allowing Charles’ telepathy to softly wrap around his mind, and make him feel secure, and calm, and  _ loved,  _ in a safe cocoon of warmth and affection where nothing could possibly hurt him ever again.

It’s not until he can feel Charles shift somewhat, his hand retreating, that Erik slowly slides his eyes open.

The light is too bright for a moment, but not for long. All the blurriness vanishes rather quickly too, and he can finally see the face that he loves again. Blue eyes, pale skin, freckles, red lips curved into a warm and loving smile.

Has Charles always been that beautiful?

_ I love you, _ are the first words that form in Erik’s mind, because it’s all he can think in this moment, all that matters in the world, and he’s rewarded with an even more beautiful smile.

_ I love you too, Erik. I’m so glad you’re awake. I was so worried about you. _

If only there were words big enough to describe the way Erik’s heart swells at those words, to describe his love for the man facing him.

He’ll never be able to put it into words, but perhaps he won’t have to, because Charles knows him so well.

 

Only slowly, gradually Erik takes in his surroundings, the comfortable bed and clean linen, the pompously decorated room, paintings on the walls, the floor covered in red carpet. He’s never been inside the palace, apart from the battle he just left behind (or was that hours ago? Days perhaps? Why doesn’t it bother him that he doesn’t  _ know?) _ , and yet his brain —or Charles’ mind inside it—tells him immediately that that is where he is . 

It doesn’t worry him or confuse him because nothing could in his state.

Erik dully registers people sweeping in and out of the place to either check on him, prodding his body gently in different places, or whispering things in Charles’ ear. Erik finds he doesn’t care much about them, about what they want or do, or what kind of information they have for Charles, his mind still light as though wrapped in cotton wool. All he cares about is Charles next to him, light touches between them, Charles’ mind swathing his, and that Charles will never leave him again, will always be there to hold his hand and wrap around his senses.

It takes some time before Charles apparently feels Erik’s stable and awake enough to gently and gradually remove a few of the thick and warm layers of telepathic protection from Erik’s mind, though a soft calming presence still lingers.

It’s only then that Erik slowly starts to worry about anything other than Charles being close to him, with the strong sense of  _ everything is alright _ slowly fading. For the first time he slowly takes in the bruises on Charles’ jaw and neck that his brain just didn’t see before, the sight making his stomach constrict with pain, anger, and a sense of helplessness. 

He wants to know who did this, and to make them pay, but he can’t find the words nor the strength to ask, and at the same time he can barely think anything beyond  _ it’s over, we made it, we’re going to be alright. _

But he also begins to remember things, terrible things. Friends falling right before his eyes, death and destruction, and Shaw’s fate, still unknown to him.

_ Shaw is dead,  _ Charles’ voice informs him gently, apparently plucking that very thought from the whirlwind within Erik’s mind.  _ He’s not going to hurt anyone anymore. It’s truly over. _

The words send a shiver of mixed emotions through Erik’s mind. Relief, so much of it Erik’s breath catches for a moment, but also a strange kind of emptiness, and the tiniest tinge of regret at not having witnessed Shaw’s downfall. Or having brought it about himself.

Though ultimately it doesn’t matter, does it? Shaw’s gone. He’s truly and completely gone.

“How?” Erik whispers, using his voice for the first time. It sounds raspy, and his throat hurts slightly from lack of use. 

_ I killed him. _

Charles says it blankly, matter-of-factly, but Erik knows his lover’s face well enough to recognise the sadness behind the warmness of his eyes, and the exhaustion.

Erik’s glad to find that he’s strong enough to stretch out his hand and take Charles’ in his, but he doesn’t know what to say. He’s got a strange desire to know how exactly Shaw’s life came to an end, whether it was quick or whether he suffered. Whether he saw it coming, and whether there was enough time for him to realise why he was dying. But he can’t ask Charles, not when he sees his weary eyes, and can almost feel the pain inside of him.

Charles, however, must have sensed Erik’s feelings, because he squeezes Erik’s hand gently, and smiles weakly.

_ I did the same thing I did back on Genosha, though this time I finished the job.  _ There’s silence for a moment, and Erik’s struggling to find the right words, when Charles continues.  _ I wish I could have just frozen him _ _ —I wanted him to go to trial, and face his charges—but I could barely focus with all those suffering minds around me, and it felt like the only safe thing to do. I couldn’t risk him slipping out of my grasp. I’m sorry, Erik...I know it would have been important to you to see him faced with the consequences of his actions, but I just couldn’t— _

“No, no, Charles, it’s alright,” Erik whispers, ignoring the soreness of his throat, almost frightened by the pained look on Charles’ face. 

He sees only then that a big part of Charles’ pain stems from the fact that he seems to think he robbed Erik of closure. And perhaps he did, perhaps that’s truly what bothered Erik when he heard about Shaw’s fate, but ultimately it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but that it’s over, that Charles is safe, that they’re together again, and that Shaw and Marko’s reign of terror are done.

“I love you, Charles,” Erik continues, still in a whisper. “You did the right thing. You saved us. All of us.”

Erik’s definitely not imagining the way Charles’ face falls at his last words, the way his lips become a thin, slightly quivering line.

“Not all of us,” he says quietly, speaking aloud for the first time. His voice sounds hoarse, as though he hadn’t used in years. “So many didn’t...oh, Erik...”

Erik’s heart plummets at the sound of desperation in Charles’ voice, and it takes a moment for what he said to penetrate Erik’s dull mind. When it does, his insides twist so violently he starts to feel nauseous.

“How many?” is all Erik manages to croak.

“Not sure yet,” Charles replies in a quiet voice. “Several hundred.” His eyes are hollow, and he looks years older all of a sudden, worn out.

“Anyone we know?” Erik hears himself ask, though he’s not completely sure he wants Charles to tell him the truth.

Charles’ distraught eyes stare into Erik’s for a moment before he answers.

_ Kitty, _ he says then.  _ Sean, Clarice, Anna Marie. _ He hesitates.  _ Rose. _

Erik’s throat has constricted so tightly, and his mind is whirling so badly, he can’t bring himself to say anything. He tears his eyes away from Charles’, because he can’t bear to see the pain in them on top of his own, staring blankly at the ceiling instead.

_ Ororo is still out cold, but Hank says she’ll be alright,  _ Charles goes on, as though desperate to provide Erik with some good news among the terrible, squeezing Erik’s hand gently again.  _ Many more are injured but conscious. Jean is pretty roughed up, similar to you, but she’s getting better. They’re asking about you. I’ll be glad to tell them you’re improving. _

His thumb stroking along the back of Erik’s hand quivers slightly, as though he’s only just holding himself together.

It breaks Erik’s heart, and all he can do is squeeze Charles’ hand back as tightly as he can.

 

Charles stays with Erik all night, and all through the next day. Their hands barely ever separate, as they both seem to need the constant reminder that the other is still there, that it’s still real, and they’re not going to be ripped apart again. 

They talk in a whisper or telepathically, Charles filling in the gaps in Erik’s memory, what happened after he fell, how Shaw died, and how Charles gathered all the strength left in him to address the fighters in the room telepathically, to tell them it was over, to calm them and prevent any more pain and suffering, how for a moment he didn’t think it was going to work, but then the noise died down, no more yells of fury or battle cries, only sobs of desperation and calls for lost friends and family members.

Charles recounts how he struggled to get to Erik’s side as quickly as possible, how he thought for a moment that Erik must be dead until he sensed the quiet echoes of his unconscious mind and could have cried in relief. How they had trouble taking care of all the injured at once, but managed to find a place for everyone in the end.

How Charles did his best to track down everyone he knows, how he alternated between sitting next to Erik’s bed and that of his sister, Raven, who sustained rather bad injuries as well, but who’s already getting better.

It’s a lot to process, especially for a mind as overwhelmed as Erik’s, but nevertheless he needs to hear it, needs to fill in the gaps of the past in order to be able to think ahead again, and so he just lies and listens, grasping Charles’ hand as tightly as if trying to prevent it from being ripped away from him again.

After Charles has finished they keep on talking, though about nothing dark or serious for a while, as neither of them would be able to bear anymore of it, and they share the occasional soft and chaste kiss, each and every one of them reminding Erik that it’s  _ real, _ that Charles is by his side, and that Shaw didn’t win.

He didn’t conquer them. He couldn’t, in the end.

It’s all Erik needs for now, all he wants, being with Charles, in silence or talking quietly, but constantly touching, not strong enough to do anything else anyway, not ready to think too much about what lies behind him, or what may lie ahead.

Just Charles by his side, always. Just being with the man he loves has to be enough, right? And everything will be okay again...

People keep slipping in and out of the room to talk to Charles in whispered voices and wait for his instructions whispered back, but Erik still pays them hardly any attention.

Charles is all he has the strength to focus on for now. His world is Charles and nothing else, at least as long as he feels weak, and the pain of losing so many friends still churns too intensely in his chest for him to revisit it anytime soon.

He holds on to Charles’ hand as though he’s lost at sea, and Charles is a life belt keeping him afloat. There are moments when he almost asks Charles to put his telepathic shields back up in Erik’s mind, make him forget everything that happened and wrap him up in contentment and safety just like before, but he knows it wouldn’t make the pain go away forever, only delay it.

He’ll have to get through this at some point, there’s no getting around this. At least now he has Charles’ hand to hold on to, Charles’ voice to soothe him, his thoughts and emotions to share. It’s more than he had last time he suffered through loss and guilt, and it’s that thought that keeps him from losing his head.

He can do it. He can get through this. He did it before. And he has so much more support now than he had then.

It’s only during the next day, the one that Charles gently but sadly and reluctantly tells him there are things he needs to take care of, things he can’t do while sitting next to Erik’s bed, that Erik’s dull pain turns to something resembling raw panic at the realisation that Charles is going to leave him alone in his bed.

“Shh,” Charles says softly, soothingly, obviously aware of Erik’s distress, softly stroking his cheek. “I’ll be back tonight, I promise. And I brought you company to keep your mind busy.”

Only then Erik registers the other people standing in the doorway. Jean is there, a bandage around her head and bruises on her bare arms, smiling tentatively and giving him a little wave. There are two other people too. A slightly-familiar-looking blond girl with her arm in a cast and a split lip, and a broad-shouldered rough-looking guy who regards Erik with stony eyes.

Following Erik’s gaze, Charles smiles slightly.

“Erik, this is Raven. I told you about her. And Logan. They’re going to accompany me today, but I think you’ll be alright with Jean, won’t you?”  _ If anything is wrong tell Jean to call me and I’ll be right back,  _ he adds mentally.  _ I’m never far, Erik. And I’ll be there as soon as you need me. That’s a promise. _

Erik nods, trying to swallow away the bad feeling of Charles leaving. He knows it’s not by choice. There must be so much to do for Charles. He’s the Emperor now after all, and the Empire must have been left in a state of chaos after the battle. It would be selfish of Erik to keep him any longer. 

Nevertheless he can’t help but stare wistfully after Charles as he directs his hover chair out of the room, and clench his fists as his eyes meet Logan’s narrowed ones. There’s a moment during which they fix each other with contemptuous glares, even though they’ve never before exchanged so much as a single word. Erik’s heart starts beating faster, and his chest constricts with too many emotions to place for the moment. Helplessness, loss, fear, all jumbled together. The only thing Erik knows at this moment is that he resents Logan for being allowed to stay by Charles’ side while Erik is confined to his bed and can’t follow, and he can’t quite forget what Charles told him either, that Logan is a dear friend, how close they were, and the hint that there once was more between them than mere friendship.

It’s ugly, him having those thoughts, childish even. Erik knows it, but he can’t quite help it, not in his vulnerable state, not in both physical and mental pain, and the only thing he clings on to is the memory of a question he asked Charles,  _ “do I have to be jealous of Logan Howlett?” _ and Charles’ answer, _ “No, you definitely don’t. At least not anymore.” _

It has to be enough.

 

Even though it hurts to see Charles go Erik can’t deny that it’s good to see Jean again, talk to her telepathically, or just sit in silence. She gets it, just like Charles. She gets  _ him _ without having to talk too much about things that hurt. Erik is grateful that Charles chose her of all people to sit with him while he’s away. But of course Charles would know what Erik needs.

They barely do anything but look at each other, apart from the occasional exchanged telepathic word, but her presence is enough to keep Erik from contemplating the things he’s not ready to think about, enough to keep his panic and sense of loss down to a minimum, enough to stop him from going completely mad while Charles is away, and as Charles finally returns in the evening to resume his place next to Erik’s bed, Jean squeezes Erik’s hand tightly, and Erik squeezes back.

The next day Erik is even allowed to get up and walk around the corridors for the first time, Jean by his side, and soon he feels strong enough to walk out into the park for a bit, allow the sun to shine on his face and warm and caress his skin.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel ready to see everyone else, see his friends again, more than one at a time. It’s good to see them again.  It’s good to see Darwin, Alex, Moira, and Ororo, after she’s woken up again, and all the others that survived, but it nevertheless hurts, hurts so much to see his own confused state of mind, the mixture between elation at what they achieved, endless pain at losing so many of his friends, and guilt for having survived when so many others didn’t, reflected back at him from their eyes.

They don’t talk a lot, but mostly just sit together, sometimes grasping each other’s hands, staring at the floor, or gazing into one another’s eyes as though trying to find some solace there, or reassurance that it’s going to be alright, that it’s okay to be relieved and happy about what they achieved. But even though they don’t really do anything it feels good to be close to people who’ve been through the same ordeal, and are dealing with the same confusing jumble of emotions, since talking isn’t a necessity to understand, and feel understood, during a time when neither of them has the strength to put their feelings into words yet.

It’ll be alright one day, Erik knows. The gratefulness for the way things have changed will grow and one day perhaps not be accompanied by guilt anymore, and the pain will fade, as will the numbness and emptiness, and it’ll be replaced by love, if they allow it to happen.

It’s what Charles taught him.

Soon, Erik is allowed to move out of the hospital room and into Charles’ quarters in the palace, the luxury of which makes him feel distinctly out of place, especially while Charles isn’t there. There’s not much he can do inside their bedroom either while Charles is busy, so he strolls outside most days, meeting his friends, or just sits in the park in silence, allowing his thoughts to wander.

He’s surprised by how little anyone seems to care about him and Charles sleeping in the same room, even though he knows Charles has already declared the law against homosexual relations and actions null and void, and has come out to the whole Empire. Erik’s not naive. He’s well aware that there are people —many of them in all probability—who are not happy with their Emperor being gay and don’t like the idea of him living with a man, to put it mildly, but at least around the palace or the places he visits with his friends Erik never catches so much as a disapproving glance.

And anyway, what do those people matter, particularly since it’s only a matter of time until Charles won’t be Emperor anymore, replaced by a government elected by the people of the Empire, and there’s nobody he’ll have to answer to.

Fuck all those who disapprove.

Charles stays by Erik’s side as much as he can, but he’s insanely busy, what with the Empire left in a state of chaos politically. There are positions to fill, laws to put in place or abolish, as well as funerals and memorials to organise.

It leaves hardly any time for Charles and Erik to spend together, and it makes Erik wonder what on earth Charles had to do to make the time he spent next to Erik’s bed right after he woke, when these days the only time they’re truly alone is late at night as Charles pulls himself into bed, completely exhausted, to take Erik’s hand and snuggle up to him.

It’s tough, not seeing a lot of Charles. After their days of separation during which neither of them was sure whether the other was even still alive, Erik longs for nothing more than to constantly have Charles close by, so he can be sure it’s not a dream, and Charles is actually truly there and well, and so he lives for the time after dinner, when Charles retires to his room, and into Erik’s arms.

 

The day that they bury their friends, along with so many others, the sun shines brightly, beautifully, and Erik follows Charles’ hover chair to the large chapel in which the memorial service takes place. Charles’ speech is not long but heartfelt, and Erik’s heart swells at the sound of his calm, compassionate voice, allowing the words of comfort to wash over him.

He talks about loss, but also about gain, about what all those people fought against, fought  _ for,  _ and what they achieved, how they made the Empire a better place. Several times, Erik can see Charles falter, uncertainty showing on his face as though he’s not sure whether his words are big enough to make everyone understand how grateful he is for those people’s bravery, and how deeply he feels about the fact that they died because of two men’s sheer lust for power and disregard for human and mutant life and dignity.

_ It’s not your fault, _ Erik wants to tell him, because he can also sense that that’s the most painful thought still etched deeply into Charles’ mind. That he let this happen, when he could have prevented it in the first place by not allowing Marko to manipulate him like he did.

That night, Erik wraps himself around Charles like a blanket, pressing soft kisses to his face and along his jaw, while sending thoughts of comfort at him, of love, and confidence.

_ You’re the reason everything is going to be alright, _ he’s trying to tell Charles.  _ You’re not the reason people suffered. You’re what’s giving them hope. _

It seems to work too. Soon Charles is cupping Erik’s face and pulling him back in order to be able to properly look him in the face, his eyes bright and full of wonder, before he dives forward again, capturing Erik’s lips in a soft kiss.

“I love you, Erik,” Charles whispers against his lips. “I love you so much.”

It’s the first time since their reunion that they allow themselves to get lost in touches and kisses again, both previously too exhausted or wary of hurting each other after everything that happened, but it only makes everything so much sweeter now.

Oh, how Erik missed touching Charles, how he missed getting lost in Charles’ mind and body. They still have to be careful what with Erik’s head still not having completely healed, but that’s alright. Erik’s not after anything rough anyway. Just being close to Charles, holding him, touching him, and drawing soft moans and gasps from his lips is all Erik needs.

When Charles puts his hand on Erik’s cock and begins to stroke him slowly but firmly, and their groans and shallow breaths grow to fill the otherwise silent room, Erik feels his body melt into it almost in spite of himself, tension that he didn’t even know he was holding inside of himself seeping out.

_ This _ is where he belongs, where they both belong. In each other’s arms. Anything that happened to them, anything that still pains them, and anything that is still to come they will get through because they have each other.

As Erik finally cries out and comes all over Charles’ stomach, for the first time since the day at the arena Erik feels as though everything will be alright.

They’ll make it alright. Together. If they only keep taking care of each other. They can make anything happen.

It’s only then, afterwards, as they lie curled up in bed, their fingers intertwined, that they find the courage to really talk about what happened to them while they were apart.

It takes Erik some time to remember everything, the time spent fighting with the rest of the rebels on the Siren a blur of emotions. Their separation, them turning on each other and almost killing Moira feeling surreal to him now.

“Have they arrived yet?” Erik interrupts his own tale, remembering suddenly the ships of mutant rebels headed for earth, following Shaw’s promise of equality.

“No,” Charles says softly. “They heard about Shaw being defeated. I don’t think they’re eager to face me —or you, or any of the others. I’ve sent out messages though, asking them to come back.”

“To punish them?” Erik asks, his eyebrows raised, even though he already knows what Charles is going to say.

“No,” Charles replies, just as Erik predicted. “To talk to them, hear what they want. They did nothing wrong. They thought they were acting for the best—I can’t blame them for looking out for themselves, especially after everything they’ve been through.”

Erik doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t feel like arguing. Charles wasn’t there, so he doesn’t know how close the other mutants came to actually attacking their human comrades, and on the other hand he’s still struggling with the concept of finding himself on the other side, opposing the mutants fighting the humans.

Charles is probably right. These people need someone to listen to them, hear their concerns, give them a chance for the first time in their lives. They’ve been wronged for most—if not all—of their lives after all. And who could do a better job at listening than Charles?

Hearing Charles recount his own story is much more painful than even Erik’s memories of those days when he didn’t know whether Charles was alive or dead. Erik can tell that Charles is glossing over the worst bits when he recounts those times that Shaw visited him in the cell, and Erik doesn’t push him for details, even though it’s hard to hold himself back. What Charles does tell him is bad enough though, and Erik finds himself clenching his fists once more, wishing Shaw were still alive so he could single-handedly kill him again.

The fucking monster.

It makes Erik’s insides twist violently, thinking about Shaw alone with Charles, Charles completely at his mercy, Shaw teasing and hurting him, and he needs to know everything about it, while simultaneously suspecting he wouldn’t be able to handle it if Charles did tell him the whole truth.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that Erik’s heart and mind are already so occupied with sorrow at losing so many of his friends that there hardly seems to be room for detailed fantasies about what Shaw might have done to the man he loves.

He knows he couldn’t bear it.

 

Erik gets to know many more people while he lives in the palace. Hank, for instance, Charles’ doctor, who also cared for Erik when he was weak and injured, and who is a mutant with the most astonishing blue fur all over his body. However dangerous he looks, he’s gentle, patient, and incredibly clever. Ever before Erik felt a kind of resentment towards the man for coming up with the serum, but now, meeting him, Erik feels his anger seep away almost in spite of himself, particularly as he learns that it was Hank who decided to destroy all the serum left, therefore enabling himself, Logan and Raven to get Charles out of prison, and ultimately defeat Shaw.

Then there’s Raven, Kurt Marko’s daughter, who Hank —to Erik’s amusement— seems to have quite a big crush on, even though he tries hard to hide it. She’s in no way like her father, but bubbly, cheeky, flirty, and still full of hope and energy after everything that has happened. She’s quite the handful, but Erik has to admit he enjoys her company, Raven being the only one — apart from Charles —managing  to coax a smile out of him, even though he does find he needs a break from her every once in a while.

And there’s also Logan.

Erik sees a lot of Logan whenever the bodyguard picks Charles up or returns, and he always feels a twinge of jealousy whenever he sees him, but they never exchange a word. It becomes a kind of silent battle between them, fought only through contemptuous glares and clenched teeth, though Erik is well aware that it’s a battle neither of them can win.

It’s not until more than a week after Erik moved into the royal quarters that he and Logan end up in a room alone together one morning, since Charles has excused himself to the toilet before leaving.

As Logan takes a few steps towards him Erik feels his body automatically going into fighting mode, his muscles ready to react should they need to. Logan, however, stops a few feet before Erik, once again fixing him with stony eyes.

After a moment, the broad-shouldered man opens his mouth as though wanting to say something, but closes it again, looking, for the first time, almost nervous.

Erik raises an eyebrow.

“If you hurt him —” Logan begins threateningly.

“I won’t,” Erik interrupts him. He fixes the other man with determined eyes. “I love him. I’d never hurt him.”

How easily those words come to him, even in front of a man he’s never properly spoken to before, and he can see the surprise in Logan’s eyes.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Good,” says Logan then. “Because I swear to god, if you do, you’ll regret it.”

Erik just nods.

For some strange reason this short conversation dissolves most of the tension between them. However strange it may sound, they understand each other. They may never become friends, may never grow to like each other, but Erik is aware of how important Logan is to Charles, and vice versa. He’s not going to keep Charles from his friend of many years, and he can tell that Logan, too, is beginning to accept that Erik is there to stay, and that he makes Charles happy. They both know that the most important thing is Charles’ happiness.

Because they both love him.

 

Thousands of things happen in the next months, so many things that mostly keep Erik and Charles —and many others—busy all day, everyday.

For one, Charles is determined find out everything about what happened during the time of Marko’s reign, and put things right again, and so he puts out a call for people to report any injustice or cruelty done to them during Marko’s and Shaw’s reign.

Millions and millions of people come forward.

Even though Charles hires thousands of people to help conduct interviews, put together timelines and reports, as well as verify the stories, the amount of information is completely overwhelming.

It seems like Erik’s story isn’t anywhere near an isolated case.

People call in from all over the planet, and even other planets to tell their stories of torture, of death, and violence, an endless flow of the most horrific tales, even though Erik, in his attempt to find out more, barely scratches the surface.

Erik sees a few familiar faces too, former children from his village whose faces he barely recognises, the same kind of tired look on their face —all too similar to the one he knows from his own reflection in the mirror. 

However much his life has changed for the better the look probably won’t ever go away entirely.

Once all the information is gathered memorials are commissioned, thousands of them, all created by artists especially assigned to one case. Erik peeks into the huge halls reserved for the sculptors and artist blacksmiths more than once, while Charles is busy, wandering along the aisles and examining all the different works of art. It makes him feel whole for some reason, the sight of the creations slowly taking shape making his heart swell. It’s a beautiful thing, all this destruction making way for creation now, and it feels like a huge  _ fuck you _ to Shaw and Marko.

_ You didn’t defeat us, and you never will. You tore all this down, but we’re rebuilding something new out of it, something beautiful. _

_ Your hatred and destruction will never win. _

They, him and Charles, Moira, Jean, and all the other survivors, won’t let it happen. They’ll do anything to return justice and freedom to the people of the Empire.

That’s the other thing that keeps Erik busy during the days and awake during the night—the conferences about the future of the Empire.

Charles has selected about a hundred people, Erik among them, as well as Jean, Storm, and Moira, and some more rebels Erik and Charles met during their time on Galba, plus a ton of older, experienced men Charles knows back from the day his father was Emperor.

Those old men are the worst, deadlocked in their views, hardly able to imagine a new Empire, which won’t really be an Empire anymore as it will no longer have an Emperor, though a lot of them try—Erik has to give them that.  But Charles insists that they need them, that they need experienced politicians by their side if they want to do this properly, that they need both sides—experience and conservatism as well as heated and passionate progressive activism brought to the table by Erik and the rest of the rebels.

“We want changes,” Charles says softly, his hand on Erik’s bare chest in a calming gesture as they lie back in bed one night—right after Erik has gone on a tirade complaining about the old men slowing everything down. “Big changes, in fact—but we don’t want chaos. Too many people depend on this, too many differing concerns need to be addressed—we can’t go making any irrational decisions. We need them, however much you may dislike them. This constitution needs to be absolutely fail-safe. We can’t afford another Kurt or Shaw. Perhaps it’s a good thing they’re slowing everything down. Gives everyone time to think things through properly.”

Charles is right, of course, but it doesn’t make the situation any less frustrating. Nevertheless they make progress over the many weeks that they debate and discuss different options and paragraphs, and even though Erik doesn’t agree one hundred percent with everything they decide on he’s able to see the benefit of most. He realises, too, at some point, that some things will be complicated, and some freedoms will be restricted if they want their constitution to prevent any kind of despot from taking over again, even though he doesn’t like it. It’s his job to make sure it doesn’t go too far though, and luckily he has a lot of support among the former rebels.

It should be boring really, politics. Erik’s never been much of a talker, has never debated or properly discussed anything in his life before he met Charles, but now he finds it keeps him going, the knowledge that he’s actually making a difference filling him with a sense of achievement, a purpose.

Plus, he knows he’s not doing it for the power, or to make himself more important than everyone else, but because he knows what it’s like to live in a regime of suppression, what it’s like to fear and be hungry all the time, what it feels like to watch helplessly as acts of cruelty happen to his loved ones, while fully aware that no justice will be served.

He’s not doing it for himself, but because he knows he couldn’t live with himself if he left any kind of loophole in the constitution to allow any of those horrors to happen again. And he knows from experience what those might be.

_ That’s why I asked you to join, _ Charles says warmly to him, softly stroking his chest as they lie in bed one night after another day of frustrating discussions.  _ That’s why you’re perfect for the job. _

Who knows—perhaps it’s even a future job option for him, once the constitution has been passed, and their new order is put in place. Perhaps politics is the place for him—making sure no dickhead does anything stupid to harm innocent people—humans or mutants—again.

Then there are the trials, thousands of them, against high-ranked government officials under Kurt Marko’s reign, against people who exploited other people’s suffering while Marko turned a blind eye. Emma Frost, for instance—the telepath who unmasked Erik, allowing Shaw to target him, and who vetted so many others for Kurt Marko, sealing the fate of so many people; who was injected with the serum as Shaw took over—just like Charles—because Shaw decided he didn’t trust her anymore, and who sat waiting in her cell while the battle raged, unsure where her loyalties lay anymore. And against Marko himself of course, the big one, the one everyone has been waiting for.

He doesn’t go down without a fight. He rages, and screams and insults people in the courtroom, trying to turn everyone against Charles once more, trying to make them believe that Charles betrayed him in some way, and that he’s wholly innocent.

It’s futile of course, Marko is barely a shadow of his former self, and he looks nothing short of mad as he yells and spits furiously. In the end he’s sentenced to prison for life by the high judges once appointed by Charles’ father.

It still not enough, Erik realises, as a yelling and struggling Marko is pulled from the room again, particularly when Erik’s eyes fall on Charles’ blank face as he watches his former mentor being handcuffed and led away. It probably won’t ever be enough, what with all the horrors he’s responsible for, but perhaps, at some point it’ll mean closure, for Charles, and Erik, and for all the millions of people who suffered because of him.

There’s so much that needs closure, so damn much. But maybe, someday, they’ll get there. Step by step.

They put up the finished memorials all over the Empire soon afterwards, Erik never leaving Charles’ side, travelling with him, and Raven, and Logan, who Erik has had to learn to tolerate, and who has apparently learned to tolerate Erik in turn, all over Earth, listening to Charles’ speeches, watching him grasp victims’ hands and talk to them in a soft voice, with a camera never far away, documenting everything for future generations, so they can remember what happened, what people are capable of, and what they need to prevent from ever happening again.

It’s exhausting, and yet it’s healing at the same time, every statue, every sculpture honouring the pain of the victims of the Empire, and making sure they’re never forgotten. 

The day that they reach the empty place where once Erik’s village stood Erik cries for the first time on their trip, in front of everyone, silent tears running down his cheeks as he’s unable to tear his eyes away from the stone statue of about ten children of different sizes, all looking completely lost in the midst of the empty stretch of land, where once so many people lived. Charles takes his hand, and Erik cries, and yet he’s not hurting like he used to, because while he remembers his parents’ death that day, he also remembers a thought that he had back on the Siren, and his mind latches on to that thought, illuminating it, making it outshine everything else.

His parents would like the man he has become, they’d be happy for him to have found love again, and happiness ahead of him, even though for now things are still difficult, and the pain is still strong. They’d be proud of him for having overcome his hatred, and allowed another person in again, but also for fighting for what is right, for everything he’s done.

He’s truly become a man they could be proud of.

 

END OF PART TWO


	26. 3 Charles

PART THREE: Life

 

Charles allows his head to drop back against the headrest of his hoverchair as a soft moan escapes his lips.

Erik’s mouth feels heavenly on his chest, his lover’s lips and hands caressing his skin, Erik’s tongue sweeping over Charles’ nipple causing his muscles to twitch.

“Don’t stop,” Charles breathes out, and he can feel Erik smirk against his skin, accompanied by a spark of smugness among all the arousal filling the room.

Charles’ hand finds its way into Erik’s hair, his fingers gently running through it, while Erik keeps up the delicious caressing of Charles’ chest, while trailing his fingertips along the line on Charles’ lower stomach —the one right before sensation fades, the one that sets his nerve endings on fire when being touched just like this, as Erik knows only too well.

It’s careless, really, doing all this in Charles’ office during lunch break, but Erik has been gone all week—away on one of his diplomatic trips to another district on the other side of the Earth—and of course his first action was to find Charles in his office and show him just how much he’s been missing him.

Not that Charles is about to complain.

As Erik begins sucking on his nipple in earnest, the pressure on Charles’ lower stomach increasing, Charles’ fingers curl more tightly around the strands of hair in his grasp—to the point that he might worry about hurting Erik if he didn’t know—by experience and the definite spark of mounting arousal he receives from Erik’s mind—that Erik is enjoying it immensely.

It feels so good—so damned good—and Charles is so giddy with happiness about having Erik back—even though he was barely gone for six days—that he misses the innocently curious mind approaching his office, only realising his mistake when the door handle creaks, announcing their unwelcome visitor.

Charles’ hand snaps to his temple automatically, while Erik pulls away and quickly gets to his feet again, the look on his face somewhere between embarrassment and annoyance at being interrupted. 

The young boy who just entered blinks a few times, his eyes fixed on Charles, and Charles can only just suppress a grin at the slowly mounting horror in Erik’s mind as he takes in the scene right in front of the boy’s eyes—Charles’ shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders, marks all over his chest, and Erik right next to him with his hair standing on end.

“Martin,” Charles says calmly, rather proud of how normal his voice sounds, earning himself an eyebrow-raise from his boyfriend. “How can I help you?”

The boy smiles shyly and walks right up to Charles’ desk, holding out a sheet of paper. “I finished my essay,” he says. “So I wanted to hand it in.”

Charles takes it with his left hand, his right hand still pressed firmly to his temple, which now seems to register in Erik’s mind too, because the tension inside it definitely lets up somewhat, and Erik exhales a slow breath.

“Thank you, Martin. I’ll have a look at it later.”

The boy smiles again, then turns and heads outside again. Only once the door has closed behind him and Charles is sure Martin is too far away to hear them anymore does he drop his hand, bursting out laughing.

It takes Erik a moment to catch on, still apparently too horrified by what has happened, but then he playfully hits Charles on the shoulder, a grin spreading over his face.

“Once again I’m glad you’re a telepath—we would have scarred that kid for life.”

Charles is too high on adrenaline to do anything but snort loudly.

Oh yes, he too is fucking glad that he’s a telepath in situations like these.

Of course, by the time they’ve calmed down again and are able to look at each other without bursting out laughing lunch break is already almost over, and so Erik just kisses Charles softly on the lips, wishing him a good day, and excusing himself to the bedroom for some much needed rest.

“I want to be fit and ready for later tonight, don’t I?” he murmurs in Charles’ ear, the smirk evident in his voice, causing Charles to shove him playfully, even though he can’t suppress a pleasant shiver at his lover’s words.

 

Whenever Erik leaves for a few days because his commitments as a representative of their district require him to be some place Charles feels strangely empty, even though he still has all his kids surrounding him, millions of things to organise, lessons to plan, and many friends who are never far away—Raven, and Jean, and Ororo, and Logan, who always has time to stop by for a chat if Charles is feeling lonely. It’s not as though Charles is unhappy during those times—he loves his job and all of the kids—but it just seems as though an essential part of himself is absent.

It’s tough, but it’s still worth it, their reunions after several days apart always the most wonderful moments, their first nights back together even more passionate as usual as they’re both drunk on each other’s love and the elation of being back in one another’s arms. Those times are fucking perfect.

And anyway—Charles knows that Erik loves his job too, loves travelling and meeting people, loves making a change in people’s lives, so it’s even more worth it having to say goodbye to him for a few days—even though Erik constantly complains about other politicians—mostly old human men who, even five years after the Empire’s end, still seem stuck in old ways of thinking.

Though Charles knows Erik secretly loves arguing with them. And he especially loves winning arguments against them. Which he does all the time, because he actually knows what he’s talking about.

It’s been barely a month since the last election, when Erik was reelected as the mutant representative of their district with record votes, and he’s still flying high, still encouraged by the overwhelming support of his vision both from humans and mutants, and Charles loves him like that—always loves him, even in his darkest moments, but the enthusiasm and hope, the excitement at change happening, at progression in the right direction suits Erik so well after all the hardship in his life, and the smile on Erik’s face as he recounts what else he has planned makes Charles’ heart sing.

Life is good.

Charles has learnt to mostly look forward rather than back over the years, and to enjoy the things he has rather than keep mourning the things he’s lost, even though it’s hard as hell, and even though there are still days—not many, but they are there—when he can’t help remembering their darkest hours, when his mind has trouble appreciating how far they’ve come.

The anniversary of the Big Battle against the Empire is such a day, and it’s been only a month since the sixth one.

Charles will never forget those friends they made—friends they never got to spend enough time with, friends they never got to know well enough—but still well enough to miss them. While everyone around him and Erik seemed to celebrate the end of the injustice and the beginning of something new with fireworks and mountains of food, they both sat in silence, remembering Kitty, Sean, Clarice, Anna Marie, Rose, and so many others that never deserved to die, and Charles can’t quite help remembering the memories of the tortured minds he touched that day.

It’s those days that Charles can’t help the feeling of guilt still washing over him. He works hard every day to give back, to help young mutants have a better future, and it heals him too, it helps to have a purpose, and to make a change. Most days he’s happy. He’s got everything he ever wanted—a home, a fulfilling job, friends, and a man he loves and who loves him back—and the world, the former Empire is a better place now. He’s learnt to see all that, and to appreciate his own efforts in making change happen, but there are nevertheless times—even though they’re thankfully rare—when the pain and loss of the past overwhelms him.

Luckily Erik is always there to catch him when they do. Erik seems to sense whenever dark thoughts are creeping up on Charles, as if he is a telepath too. He just takes his hand then, and pulls him close until the moment has passed and Charles is ready to move forward again. It’s easy with Erik, being weak, and letting his guard down. It’s a relief, not a burden, to share these moments of sadness, to allow his emotions to flow freely, and then grasp each other’s hands more tightly and look into one another’s eyes until the tears have dried and a sense of peace and overwhelming gratefulness make them sparkle and shine again.

It’s all good. Charles wouldn’t want to miss those moments, or those when Erik silently cuddles up to him at night, not talking, but opening his mind and allowing Charles to see everything in there, all the joy and gratefulness, but also the remaining pain that still lingers.

It’ll always be a part of them both, this pain. It’ll always be there among the joy and contentment in their lives, always define part of who they are, and that’s alright, because it no longer guides their decisions or their feeling of self-worth. If anything it has made them grow in many ways, made them stronger in a sense that Charles never thought possible.

Love is their strength. It’s the source of their happiness as well as their pain. It keeps them going, gave them a reason to fight when they had to, and now allows them to settle and move on after everything they’ve been through.

Love is strength.

What a wonderful concept which took Charles so long to understand, when he was told since his parents’ death that strength only stems from toughness and cruelty, that the only way of being strong is to make people fear you.

Neither Kurt nor Shaw ever understood true strength. They never understood what love could do, which is what brought Shaw down in the end, what brought both of them down.

Shaw being dead means he’ll never learn it either, although Charles very much doubts he would have changed his mind on anything anyway even if he were still alive. As for Kurt—there’s no remorse in him, Charles learnt as much during the one occasion that he visited his former mentor in prison three years earlier in an effort to truly understand him, finally comprehend what made Kurt act the way he did, and hopefully see a glimmer of good inside him.  But no. There wasn’t even a hint of understanding in Kurt’s mind of the amount of damage he’d done, no thought wasted on the millions of lives he destroyed, only self-pity at his own fate, and fury at Charles, Erik, and the other rebels for bringing him down.

When Charles left the prison afterwards he felt nauseous and dirty for having spent so much time in that hellhole of a mind, and it took him several days to shed those feelings again. He’s never gone back since. There’s no saving Kurt, Charles realised as much when he saw him, no making him see the light, or changing who he is. There’s no love inside Kurt for anyone other than himself—and even that is tainted with feelings of failure. There’s nothing that could change him without altering his mind beyond recognition, and Charles isn’t going to do that.

Kurt is a chapter of his life he’s had to leave behind and not go back to, because there’s simply no reason to do so. It’s done, over. Kurt is locked away, and will be so for the rest of his life.

There are other chapters, other memories that are not shed as easily, not that Charles would want to dismiss them.

Genosha is one of them. The place which embodies everything Charles is, everything that defines him and Erik, from pain to joy, from guilt to self-discovery, from forsakenness to liberation.

The first time they went back there, back to the desolate village, back to the now closed up mass grave and a newly erected memorial, all those feelings washed over them at once and Charles had to close off his mind in order to protect himself against Erik’s feelings on top of his own. It was hard to know what to feel then, even though the place looked so different from the last time they’d seen it—snow replaced by grass and exotic looking flowers, the air warm instead of bitingly cold. Too many people were surrounding them to do anything more than stare dully around the place they’d been so happy and desperate, so free and so incredibly lost, all at the same time. 

It wasn’t until Charles ordered everyone else to stay behind and entered the tiny cabin that used to be their home with nobody but Erik by his side that it started to finally feel real again, that he managed to order his thoughts and get a grasp on his emotions as well as Erik’s. They did nothing but lie on their tiny rough mattress for about an hour that day, their fingers intertwined, hovering somewhere between overwhelming joy and relief at how far they’d come since they left this place, and soul-crushing sadness at what it represented.

Genosha will never be only one of these things, will never be only the place that Charles and Erik found each other, found themselves, found love, found hope, found happiness. And it won’t just be the place that harboured the cruelest massacre in the history of the Empire either, the place that Kurt and Shaw tried to rid themselves of Charles and Erik, the place that felt like it was clearly going to be their grave in so many desperate moments. Genosha will always be all of these things, all at once.

It was painful, going back, and it was wonderful. It was torture, and it was healing. It was everything, and it will never be any less than all of that. 

They’ve gone back once a year since, have both taken time off and travelled all the way through the former Empire to get to one secluded planet, one desolate village, and just be together for a week or two, in a simple way, without any luxury or anyone else.

Those will always be the most beautiful and yet most emotionally exhausting days of the year, and Charles wouldn’t want it any other way. Genosha is everything to them, everything they are.

It’s necessary though to keep these trips, or other confrontations with their turbulent and often painful past to a minimum—there’s no ignoring it, no forgetting it, nor do they want to, but their focus should nevertheless lie on the here and now and on what is yet to come.

Because what they have in the here and now is absolutely beautiful and close to perfection.

Charles has never been an early riser—in fact, back before his trip around the galaxy that would change everything there used to not much he hated more than his alarm in the morning telling him it was time to get up and start another miserable day—but things are different now. He still loves to sleep in on weekends, waking up to the smell of freshly-brewed tea and the mattress dipping down as Erik takes a seat on the edge, but instead of feeling anger and annoyance at the sound of his alarm clock during weekdays he mostly feels excitement and a kind of verve he never knew before he opened the school.

He  _ wants _ to get up and start his day now, wants to teach, to listen to the kids’ stories and struggles, to witness his students slowly learning to control their powers, watch their confidence in themselves grow, their smiles become more open and free.

It fills him with endless pride and joy whenever he sees how far another of his students has come, how they’ve overcome fears and insecurities, and have learnt to embrace the person they’re supposed to be.

That was something he had to get used to at first. Pride. Recognition of what he built, what he made a reality, and how it helped so many people. But now he is, now he’s proud of himself, and of every single one of them.

Of Raven, for being the person she is—confident, progressive, creative, and empathetic—even though in her father and older brother she never had any role model to ever teach her those values. She finally allowed herself to explore her love for art after her father’s imprisonment—something Kurt always considered a ‘waste of time’, and now teaches art classes at Charles’ school, while spending the rest of her time—when she’s not hanging around Charles’ office, talking and laughing that is—creating the most amazing sculptures and paintings. Though she does still get slightly embarrassed whenever Charles buys some of her art to hang it in one of the corridors of the old countryhouse that has become the school.

Of Hank for everything he did for them before the Big Battle, for his incredible research which he shares with Charles once a month when they meet for lunch and a game of chess, but most of all for his commitment to helping young mutants, and the fact that he’s always at the school within a few minutes if Charles calls him when one of the students is ill. Though that might also be to impress Raven.

Of Logan, of whom Charles always knew he had a nurturing nature, but never quite how brilliant he’d be at teaching and looking after young mutants (though he keeps pretending that he finds them mostly annoying). Now the students look up to Logan and regularly excel themselves in an effort to make him proud (which he is though he tries hard not to show it). And of how Logan learnt to bury the hatchet with Erik after a few weeks of intense stares and murderous thoughts shot at each other that gave Charles headaches. They’ll never be great friends perhaps, but at least they’re respecting each other and are even able to work well together if they have to.

Of all his rebel friends, of Moira, Jean, Ororo, and all the others, for everything they’ve done and are still doing to make the world a better place, be it in politics like Ororo and Moira, or in teaching like Jean, but also for learning to move forward and find joy again after everything they’ve been through.

And of Erik obviously, for fighting so hard to make the former Empire a better place, and keeping the fight up, even though things are a lot better, in an effort to keep improving mutants’ chances and equity, and for overcoming his anger and allowing himself to hope and love again. Most of all for this, because Charles himself knows how hard it is to let go of self-destructive mind patterns and embrace hopefulness instead.

They’ve all come so far.

 

The day goes by in a relatively normal fashion—lessons, preparations for the next day, a staff meeting—interrupted only occasionally by single very loud thoughts from Charles and Erik’s bedroom.

Charles can’t suppress a slight smile whenever Erik’s mental voice passes through his mind barriers, blocking out all thoughts around him, but always tuned to Erik’s mind.

_ Charles, are you done yet? _

_ No, Erik, I’m in the middle of a lesson. And I’ve got a meeting afterwards. And more stuff to do after that. _

_ You work too much. _

_ Says the man who was almost gone for a whole week. _

The mental equivalent of a grin hits Charles and he has to work very hard not to smile like an idiot in response, and embarrass himself in front of his class.

_ Fair enough,  _ says Erik, the sensation of a cheeky grin morphing into a feeling of fondness.  _ I just missed you. So much. And I want to show you just how much. _

Charles can’t quite suppress a pleasant shiver at those words, and a blush spreading over his cheeks, causing the student just answering his question to stop and throw him a confused look along with half of his class.

So much for not embarrassing himself.

 

Luckily Erik holds himself back the rest of the day after Charles—half-jokingly—reproves him for sidetracking him when he should really be working, but his presence is still there, always in the back of Charles’ mind, warm, comforting and so wonderfully familiar.

Charles only ever really notices how much he relies on sensing Erik at all times once he’s gone and it feels as though a part of Charles’ mind that was previously filled with warmth and love is now empty and void. There are enough parts of his mind that are still filled with joy and contentment, but that one part that is reserved for only Erik nevertheless makes itself known whenever Erik is too far away to reach.

Dinner is a noisy affair, as usual, the large dining hall filled with students all chatting animatedly, and even at the teachers’ table the chatter is louder than normal, what with Raven pressing Erik for details of his trip, and a rather political debate ensuing.

Charles doesn’t say much, content to simply listen, the fingers of one hand curled around Erik’s under the table as he attempts (and fails miserably) to eat his pasta one-handed with the other.

Seeing the passion on Erik’s face as he recounts what happened on his trip, the places he’s seen, the people he’s spoken to, and the ideas he has to improve those people’s lives, makes Charles’ heart swell in his chest, and he squeezes Erik’s hand tightly, receiving a squeeze in return, and a warm and affectionate smile.

Oh, how much he loves this man, and how wonderful it is to be able to sense his love in return.

 

Finally back in their bedroom Erik wastes no time in locking the door securely with a flick of his wrist and pulling Charles on the bed with him, before beginning to rip off both of their clothes in record time.

Charles barely has time to catch his breath when Erik is on him already, their lips pressed together, their tongues sliding against one another in a well-practised rhythm.

“God, I missed you,” Erik breathes out between hot kisses, one of his hands trailing circles along the side of Charles’ jaw. “You have no idea.”

“Oh yeah?” If possible, Charles’ voice sounds even more breathless than Erik’s. “Show me.”

And Erik does.

As Erik finally sinks inside him a while later, Charles’ hips propped up on a pillow, his skin still tingling and buzzing from his lover’s fervid kisses and touches, Charles trails both his hands through Erik’s hair, allowing his eyes to slide shut, his mouth open, breathing in unison with his lover’s deep gasps.

Charles blanks out any noise, smell, or light, focussing solely on Erik’s warm breath on the skin of his neck and the barely-there pressure on his arse, the minimal sensation of Erik’s cock entering him, followed by more and more light sparks as Erik slips slowly further inside.

He feels him then, deep inside, as Erik bottoms out, stilling inside Charles, and trailing his lips softly along Charles’ jaw, a delicious pressure, but not yet enough.

“I love you,” Erik breathes out as he’s reached Charles’ ear, and Charles moves his hands down to grab his lover’s shoulders tightly. “I love you so fucking much.”

Charles wants to reply, but at that moment Erik begins to move, and Charles’ entire focus shifts back to the faint but wonderful sensation.

It’s so good, with Erik, it’s never been anything but perfect. 

Charles barely registers the soft moans falling from his lips, turning into grunts as Erik gradually speeds up. 

_ This _ is where he wants to be, here, in this room, with Erik, their minds and bodies connected. This is all he needs.

The sensation builds, and Charles grabs Erik’s shoulders even more tightly, wraps his arms and minds around the man he loves, as he pulls him further up to press their lips together again, connect them in any way possible, feel him everywhere he can.

Erik groans loudly into Charles’ mouth as Charles taps into his arousal, linking their sensations together, and the pleasure increases tenfold.

They’re both close, both almost there, chasing that special high only reserved for one another, and Charles can barely think anymore.

_ I love you, Erik, _ he sends at that moment, as their connection bursts with shared pleasure, desperate for Erik to hear it, though he already knows. They both know.

They’ve got each other. For as long as they’re alive.

Life is truly good.

  
  


THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, especially to those who left kudos, and everyone who commented: I love you more than you could possibly know. You're the reason I finished this monster of a story. <3
> 
> Endless thanks to my wonderful beta, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)! Your edits were much needed and your comments kept me motivated. I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you so much, my friend. <3 <3 <3


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